Ruggedo grunted a vague assent. "Suppose so."
"Then you must either stop being a treacherous etcetera scoundrel or stop being an irascible etcetera grouch. If you managed to cure both, you might become as beloved as Queen Ozma."
"Humph!" growled Ruggedo. "You give me one Hades of a choice. It's not easy to change at my age; but I'll think it over. I tried to reform before, several times; but my good resolutions never seemed to stick. Still, it would be nice, just once, to be known as a good king. Come on!"
Off went the gnome, poling himself along with his bill. They crossed the crest and picked their way down the other side of the ridge. Ruggedo halted in front of a recess in the rocks, which looked like the entrance to a tunnel blocked by a granite door.
"Sure you remember the way?" asked Shea.
"Of course, nitwit! I once got my throne back from Kaliko, and I'd have had it yet but for that sanctimonious little meddler Ozma." Ruggedo flourished his beret. "Time to put em on," he whispered, donning the tarncap.
At once the gnome disappeared, save that by staring hard in the gloom, Shea could just make out a pair of disembodied eyeballs hanging in space. Shea put on his own cap, saving:
"How shall we keep together?"
"I'll raise this pike high enough so the point shows," said Ruggedo. "Keep your eye on it!"
The gnome then rapped the door with his knuckles in a peculiar pattern and uttered a warbling whistle. The door groaned open.
"Come on, stupid!" whispered Ruggedo. "Hurry!"
Shea started after the gnome but, trying to keep his eyes on the barely visible spearhead, tripped and fell full-length, tearing a hole in his breeches' right knee. The scabbarded sword struck the ground with a clank.
"Awkward ass!" groaned Ruggedo. "If that doesn't alert them, an earthquake wouldn't!"
Shea felt stringy but powerful arms invisibly helping him up. In they went.
The tunnel was not so dark as Shea had feared. Along the walls, enormous faceted gems—or at least prismatic glassy objects that looked like enormous gems—were set in the rock and shed soft lights: ruby, emerald, and other hues. The footing became more even, but Shea still had to look down with every limping step to avoid another fall.
Rasping voices wafted from ahead. As the invaders approached, Shea saw a pair of gnomish sentries, each standing in a recess in the sides of the tunnel. They held halberds somewhat like Ruggedo's bill, slantwise so that their shafts intersected at about man-height. The gnomes complained in growls:
"... that cursed sergeant has it in for me. Nothing I do pleases him."
"Trouble with you, Ungo, is that nothing pleases you. If you were told you had no duties at all, you'd crab about that ..."
"How shall we get past?" whispered Shea.
"Crawl, idiot!" The eyeballs sank down to within two feet of the tunnel floor.
Shea got down to hands and knees, wincing at the pain in his injured knee. He would, he thought, leave a trail of blood wherever the knee touched ground.
Silently Ruggedo and Shea crept beneath the halberds and past the sentries, one of whom said: "I feel something's going on, Ungo. We both heard that clank."
"Too much imagination," rasped the other. "You'll get ulcers, worrying over every little sound.
Past the sentries, Ruggedo and Shea arose and resumed their way. For an hour they stole through tunnels, now and then choosing among alternative branches. Shea tried to remember the choices, since he depended for guidance on Ruggedo. He kept repeating to himself: right once, left twice, past three side tunnels ... But soon the number of forks and branches surpassed his ability to remember which was which. A few times, groups of gnomes approached them from the tunnel ahead, and they had to slip into side passages until the parties had gone past.
They passed chambers in which gnomes were noisily at work: mending weapons, polishing gems, and other gnomish tasks. A smell of cooking came from one cavern, in which female gnomes, no prettier than the males, bustled about.
They passed a huge assembly room, lined with doors of gleaming metal and commanded by an overhanging balcony. The hall was empty save for a few gnomes polishing panels of gold and silver in the doors.
At last they turned into a downward-sloping, foul-smelling corridor. A few steps brought them to a spacious chamber, against the far wall of which yawned a row of cells. At the entrance, a gnome sat on a high chair and smoked a long-stemmed pipe.
Ruggedo walked briskly to within reach of the seated gnome and smote him over the head with the shaft of his bill. The pipe fell clattering, and the gnome slumped and fell after it.
"Come on!" hissed Ruggedo. "There's the cell we want, Number Six! The lazy bastards have left 'em all open, to save the trouble of locking and unlocking."
On the bench at the back of the cell sat the stripling whom Shea had seen in the magic picture. As the rescuers entered the cell, Shea spoke:
"Prince Oznev, can you hear me?"
The youth sat up with a start. "Who—what—where are you?"
"In your cell, invisible. We've come to get you out. Don't shout or do anything foolish!"
Shea reached into his pack and putted out the bolt cutter. If it had worked on small-gage bar stock in the smithy in Oz, it ought to function here. He snipped off the chains near the cuffs on Oznev's wrists and ankles.
"But who are you?" said the youth. "All I see is two pairs of eyes floating around."
"I'm Sir Harold Shea, and this is ex-king Ruggedo," snapped Shea, snipping the final link. "Now come along, son; no time to lose. Here, put this on your head!"
"What is it?"
"A tarncap, to make you invisible like us."
"It seems a cowardly sort of trick. A prince should face his enemies in plain sight!"
"Oh, lord!" said Shea. "Rug, we've got a terminal case of chivalrous scruples."
"Leave the brat if he won't come sensibly," growled the gnome.
"Can't." Shea stepped close to Oznev and, with a quick motion, jammed the third beret down on the head of the young prince, who disappeared. "There, Your Highness. I put it on you, so it's not your fault you're wearing it."
"I'll take it off!" muttered the invisible Oznev.
"You do, and I'll knock your royal block off!" snarled Shea. "Now come along like a good princeling!" Shea felt around and caught Oznev's wrist.
"Sir Harold!" rasped Ruggedo. "The sentry's gone!"
"Must have come to and gone to spread the alarm," said Shea. "Better run for it. Pick up your feet, Your Highness, if you don't want a tumble!"
From another cell came a rattle of chains and a cry: "Hey, get me out, too!" Similar cries and chainy sounds came from other cells.
Ignoring these appeals, the three dashed up the sloping passage and then along the labyrinth of tunnels, turning right and left at forks. The ex-king, trotting ahead, made the turns without hesitation. Shea hoped Ruggedo's memory of his kingly days did not play him false.
They passed more work rooms, all of which, earlier lull of gnomes, now yawned empty.
"Where have they all gone?" Shea called, as loudly as he dared.
"Kaliko's probably making a speech," panted Ruggedo. "From what—I hear, lie's gotten pompous. You know—how it is with us kings, surrounded by flunkeys—and flatterers. Flattery—rots the brain."
"Better save your breath, Rug," said Shea.
On and on they went. Shea heard a buzz ahead, indicating a crowd of gnomes. The light grew, and the fugitives came in sight of the hall of assembly.
They glanced inside, where thousands of gnomes now crowded the floor. On the balcony, picked out by spotlights, stood a beardless gnome in glittering regalia. Gnomes in gleaming armor, holding spears and swords, flanked the central figure.