XXVIIIHOW PETERKIN TRICKED THEM ALL
AYE, he knew the whole story, did His Majesty. For enter at that very moment a dusty, breathless messenger—a sailor from the wharves which fronted on the harbor.
“A ship—a strange ship is in the port, Your Majesty!” he cried, as he knelt at the side of the table. “A ship more strange than any we have ever seen. A ship entirely round, with neither prow nor stern nor sails nor flag—a ship of golden brown, and the very shape and color of a huge garden pumpkin!”
Then the King remembered the famous story which Peterkin had told him weeks ago and he knew who had dared to come back to his city in spite of the order of exile.
“What?” bellowed His Majesty, his face growing purple with rage. “This bold adventurer, this scalawag Peterkin, back in our midst? Come sailing back in that pumpkin boat of his, eh? Well, he shall suffer for it, I promise you. He shall be caught and clapped back into the dungeon cell from which he so mysteriously escaped.”
At that, the little princess, at his side, blushed a very rosy blush and hung her head, so that they could not see her tears.
“I swore death to this fellow, if ever he came again into my power,” hissed the King. “And death it shall be! Ho, my trusty guards! Arm yourselves with ropes and heavy chains and run to the harbor, in search of the lost prisoner. We shall have to give him a taste of death, death, death!”
Whereupon all the soldiers, all the courtiers, all the nobles of the land, armed themselves, clattering, growling, thundering. And down to the wharves of the harbor they swept, leaving the gilded dining room deserted. Even the King himself left his half eaten eggs, and forgot to clap the cover on his dish of honey—and ran off, with his crown toppling over one ear and his royal robes dragging in the mud, all the way from the palace door to the planks of the piers. Only the little Princess Clem was left, in terror and in tears. She wept, poor thing—and made a sorry mixture of her tears in a pitcher of cream.
Out from the shore, in a hundred boats, dashed the King and his cohorts. Out and around they spun, circling the peaceful pumpkin. Then closer and closer—and always pushing closer.
“Heigh, wretch!” cried the King, who stood, straight and tall, in the bow of the royal barge. “You are captured and you cannot escape. You are surrounded by a thousand warriors, all armed with ropes and heavy chains. You area prisoner again, and death shall be your punishment! Rush in, brave boatmen, and seize this dog of a Peterkin!”
So in sped the boats, crashing against the sides of the poor Pumperkin. Then up with ladders—up with the men, climbing the steep, bulging sides of Peterkin’s house. Then, one peek through the ceiling window and—what a cry went up!
For Peterkin was gone!
Nothing could be found of him, no matter how hard they searched—in every nook, behind the chairs, under the bed and everywhere. He was gone!
And only you and I shall know the secret of where he disappeared. For when the dawn was breaking, Peterkin had seized his old companion by the shoulders and had whispered into his hairy ear:
“Come, you shall have that set of teeth you crave. You shall have the whitest teeth in all the world, if only you do as I order. But if you do not, I shall have to punish you as all wicked villains must be punished. So take your choice, my toothless enemy. Will you do as I desire?”
To be sure, the ugly old man could only mumble a consent through his red gums. Whereupon Peterkin leaped upon his shoulders and cried:
“Fly first with me to the Valley of the Blind!”
And away they flew, leaving the Pumperkin just as the King and his cohorts found it: empty and alone.