The King of the Turquoise Mountains

remember how quickly thunder-storms come up in the Turquoise Mountains? One hour there will be clear blue sky, with no sign of a cloud, and then the thunder-heads rise above the horizon, like giants peeping over the edge of the earth—and down comes the rain in sheets!

Then one takes to his heels for the nearest shelter.

That is how I came to visit the palace of the king, three or four years ago, during a sketching-trip among the higher levels of those superb mountains.

Before I came to the palace, I had plenty of time to be soaked through, for though I and the peasant boy who drove my pack-mule could have reached the palace gates before the storm broke, the mule was in no hurry at all. He kept to his slow walk, even though we pulled at his bridle and pushed from behind, and took his time and ours.

When the rain fell fastest he paid no attention to it except that he lowered his ears in a discouraged way. So we were sopping wet when we came to the outer gates and pounded loudly for admittance.

I don't know that we should have got in, except for a lucky chance. It happened that His Royal Highness himself, Fantom the Fifth, had been out at the golf-links that afternoon (for the newspapers that morning had said the weather would be "fair and cloudless, with mild southern breezes and a rising barometer") and, like ourselves, the king had been caught by the sudden storm.

When he came to the gates he cried out, "What ho! Open up, warder, and get thee to it!"

At the sound of the royal and commanding voice, the gates flew wide apart, and we all (except the mule) rushed through the courtyard, over the graveled path, and in a moment found ourselves under the porte-cochère of the palace, shaking ourselves dry as if we had been shaggy dogs just out of a river.

"This," said the peasant boy, "is His Majesty Fantom the Fifth," bowing before the royal presence.

I did my best to be elegant, and bowed low—causing a stream of water to pour out of the brim of my hat.

"Whom have I the pleasure—" the king inquired, as he nodded in response to my greeting.

"Only a wandering artist, sire," I answered, "trying to depict the beauties of your mountainous realm. I was caught in the rain—"

"Yes," said the king, drily, "so I see. I noticed that the weather was damp." And he handed his outer wraps to the footmen, who by this time were coming to his assistance. "Well, well—we're under cover now. I'll be glad to lend you some dry garments—and also to have your company at dinner. Afterward, I would like to look at your paintings, and probably I'll buy a few—for I really have nothing particular to spend money on. Run away, now, and meet me in the dining-hall at six."

So, under the guidance of a footman, I was taken to the blue guest-room, where I had a choice among the king's old uniforms to replace my damp clothing.

When dressed, I strolled to the window and saw that the peasant boy was slowly, but surely, persuading the mule to come in out of the wet. Apparently that mule loved to be in a shower-bath, for he resisted at every step across the courtyard. But the plucky boy succeeded in getting the mule into the royal stables just as a melodious cathedral clock chimed out the hour of six—the dinner-hour.

I went downstairs; but being unused to the palace, I must have taken a wrong turn, for I found myself in the kitchen where I saw the peasant boy making a good meal and being looked after by the plump royal chef, who piled his plate with dainties.

"How's the mule?" I asked jokingly.

"All right," the boy replied. "He's only happy when he's miserable—but he's having his fill of fodder and pretending to be sad about it."

"We're lucky to find so pleasant a shelter," I remarked. "I hope you'll be comfortable. I am going to dine with the king."

"As the queen is away, you'll have a pleasant time," said the chef. "She's not so easy to get along with as the king. He doesn't care what sauces I give him. She always wants more sugar, or less vinegar, or no curry, or fewer cloves—or something different. You take this door for the dining-hall," and he showed me the way.

I found the king already seated, and he pointed to a chair next him. We dined together without other guests, and had an excellent meal—turkey-wing soup, fried dolphin, tamarind fritters, buffalo ribs, bamboo salad, four fancy desserts, and so on.

Then we had a pleasant talk, wherein the king told me some of his troubles.

"You know what it is," he began. "As you see, I am sovereign of this distant and mountainous land, and I would be able to live comfortably and at ease except for the unfortunate fact that my nearest neighbor, King Nabob the Ninth, who reigns over Pretigalia, has a daughter who is the most beautiful princess in the world."

"Why do you mind that?" was my question.

"Because King Nabob is also anxious to possess a celebrated gem which—I don't mind confessing between ourselves—my father took from his treasury some ten years ago. You see?"

"Not exactly," I admitted. "Not yet."

"Why, whenever princes come to court his daughter, Princess Sapphira, he always makes it a condition that the prince must first bring him the Great Blue Sapphire as the price of his daughter's hand. You understand?"

"And that is the celebrated gem your father sto—"

"Yes—captured from him. I have that wonderful gem carefully locked up and guarded in my strong room."

"And I presume you object to handing it over." "Precisely. But those princes are an almost daily nuisance. We find them everywhere. They come disguised as peddlers, as jewel-merchants, as cooks, as locksmiths. They come in full battle-array with armies; they get all sorts of magic charms and amulets; they are helped by necromancers, witches, learned pedants, and mighty giants. Why, the whole palace is guarded by burglar-alarms and special watchmen at twenty bezants a day! That is why the queen gets away from here whenever she can find an excuse. She is visiting a second cousin now—and won't be back for two weeks. She says: 'Give Nabob the sapphire, my dear. You know he won't be happy till he gets it—and neither will you!' And I sometimes think she is right."

"It seems to me she is very wise," I could not help saying. "I expect to visit Pretigalia next week. Suppose you let me take the Great Blue Sapphire to King Nabob—"

King Fantom frowned and looked at me with sudden suspicion.

"Pardon me," he said, "but are you a prince, by any chance?" "Not even a viscount," I hastily assured him, and I took my passport from an inner pocket (for I never part with it) and convinced him that I was only Thomas John Tompkins, a humble American artist, of Tompkinsville, Montana.

"I trembled for a moment," the king admitted, as he returned the passport, "though you don't look like a prince, exactly—in those big eyeglasses of yours. You remind me of a pet owl of the queen's—now dead; but you're better looking, in some ways—" (This was merely his politeness, I am sure.)

"These adventurous princes come at all times," King Fantom went on, munching a bit of celery, "and surprise me, even though I always am told when new suitors come to King Nabob for the hand of Princess Sapphira. This week, for example, there are three brother princes, named Abel, the eldest, Bertram, the next in age, and Cadwallader, the youngest, who have undertaken the task."

"Abel, Bertram, and Cadwallader," I repeated. "That must make you uneasy."

"It does," he admitted. "But we fixed Abel only this morning. He arrived with a troop of lancers. But the watchman on the south tower discovered them, blew his trumpet to call my men to arms, and we drove them out of the country in less than an hour. So that fixed Abel. I suppose we'll have a call from Bertram along about noon to-morrow or the day after. Not that I have much fear of Bertram—for he's only the second son. It's the youngest son that always succeeds in the fairy stories, you remember!

"Now let us go up to the art gallery, where I'll show you the portrait of my father—the one who captured the Great Blue Sapph—"

He stopped, for suddenly a hundred jangling bells rang out—including a great brazen gong that went "Boom—boom—boom—boom."

King Fantom sprang to his feet, crying out: "The alarm! Follow me! That must be Bertram. What a nuisance!"

He rushed up the great stairway, I following close at his heels, and led me out upon the top of the great watch-tower.

The air was filled with airplanes that were darting about like a flock of swallows, and gradually circling nearer to the palace.

"Quite modern of Prince Bertram!" King Fantom exclaimed. "But, luckily, this is one of the things the Minister of War, Lord Feitum, has planned against. Just watch me!"

He went to an electric switchboard and touched several of the keys. I could hear new bells clanging around me, and really it was hardly more than twenty minutes before a second fleet of airplanes arose from the top of the palace and soared out to drive away the attackers. The defenders were larger and swifter than their foes, and put them to flight. As the whole group receded into the distance, I could see that Prince Bertram's planes were one by one driven to earth.

We descended into the art-gallery and looked at the portraits. They were good likenesses, perhaps, but (between you and me) they were bad work artistically—bad in drawing, weak in color, absurd in values, framed in wretched taste, and hardly worth looking at. Before the king had a chance to ask my criticism, the Commander of the Air Force came to make his report.

"Lord Feitum's plan worked perfectly," said the chief aviator. "We threw steel nets over their propellers, and they had to take to earth on long glides. I have the honor to report that we won a complete victory."

"Good! You are decorated with the Order of Highflyer Royal," said the king, "and your salary is doubled."

"Long live the king!" cried the chief aviator, and he saluted and retired.

"So much for that!" the king observed. "We have now settled with Abel and Bertram. I hope that Cadwallader will wait till morning, at least. For I should like a good night's rest. Do you care to see any more of the portraits, Mr. Tompkins?"

"Why, no," was my response. "You see, as an artist, pictures rather bore me—that is, pictures by other artists, you know. But I shouldn't mind—if you're entirely convinced that I'm not a prince and am only naturally curious—seeing that Great Blue Sapphire. It must be an exquisite gem!"

"It is a wonderful jewel," the king boasted, "and I'm glad to have somebody see it. Come with me to my treasure-room. I always carry the key on my person. I'm delighted to have got rid of Prince Bertram—for Prince Cadwallader couldn't interfere till his elder brothers had failed in the task."

We went down a corridor and came to a door with massive hinges and locks, where the king halted me. Then he produced the key and swung wide the unlocked door.

"The gem is in this box," he announced, taking a golden casket from a shelf.

I watched eagerly as he opened the cover, and within, on a satin cushion, shone the Great Sapphire, like a marvelous blue planet with a soft cerulean luster.

"Is it not a wonder?" the king observed.

"Most exquisite!" I exclaimed. "You can not be too careful—" Just then came a cry from outside, and the king jumped.

"Cadwallader!" he murmured.

"No," said I, "it's only my mule-boy," for I heard him crying, "Oh, Mr. Tomp-kins! Oh, Mr. Tomp-kins!"

So I turned toward the door saying, "Here I am. What's the matter?"

The boy rushed in. "It's the mule, sir. There's something queer about him!"

The king and I came toward him, and suddenly—how could I foresee it?—that wretched boy snatched the golden casket and the Great Blue Sapphire from the king's hand, and sped away down the corridor.

We went after him at top speed, but he was far too fleet for the king and myself. We came to the palace doorway only in time to see him mount the mule—who had sprouted a pair of wings—and soar into the air!

As he flew over the palace we heard him cry out:

"The youngest son succeeds!"

King Fantom ordered up his guards and sent me into a darksome dungeon—where I spent two or three dark and dismal days. Fortunately, the queen then returned to the palace and granted me an interview. I found out that she was a cousin of the Parker-Greens of Tompkinsville, and soon convinced her that I had been entirely innocent in the whole matter. Then she interceded with the king, sold him two of my paintings, and sent me away with very gracious messages to Mrs. Parker-Green—who had been a school-fellow of hers in Montana.

After some time had elapsed, I made a visit to Prince Cadwallader and his royal bride Princess Sapphira, who was wearing in her tiara the Great Blue Sapphire. She was lovely.

"How about the King of the Turquoise Mountains?" I inquired.

"It is all right now," said Prince Cadwallader. "His queen is glad he got rid of the Sapphire,—that his father stole, you know,—and she has had all the burglar-alarms taken out of the palace. And, by the way, the chef is now my chief cook."

"King Fantom's chef?"

"Yes. He was an enchanter in my employ. He lent me the Winged Mule."

"Isn't he clever?" said the Princess smiling.

"The enchanter?" I asked.

"No."

"The Mule?"

"No."

"Who?"

"My Prince!" she answered.