"See that she does not escape," rumbled Mogodore indulgently, and Biggen and Little, clattering after the Princess, locked her securely in the tower. Alone in the comfortless room, the captive Princess leaned against the barred windows and, fixing her eyes upon one steadfast star, wondered how long it would be before Belfaygor or her father came to rescue her. Her heart sank at the thought of this cruel baron marching upon the Emerald City, laying waste its parks and palaces and enslaving all of its gay and gentle inhabitants. Terrified by the frightful forces she had set in motion, the tired little Princess threw herself upon the hard bed and cried herself to sleep. Below in the castle hall, Wagarag endeavored to turn the baron from his audacious purpose. "Listen not to this mischievous maiden," begged the steward. "Stay here where you are known and powerful. It is better to be a ruler among fools than a fool among rulers. Many have attempted to conquer the Kingdom of Oz--not one has succeeded." "Then I will be the first," boasted Mogodore and, snatching a broad sword from the wall, he swung it expertly round his head. "Shine up your shin guards, Waggy old Lad, for you're going with me and I hereby appoint you Royal Chancellor of Oz! Keeper of the King's Custard and Imperial Purveyor of Puddings!" Laughing uproariously, Mogodore brought the flat of his sword down with a resounding thwack upon the thin shoulders of his disapproving steward. "Come to bed, Dunce!" he cried good naturedly. "You mean well, but know nothing." "At least I know my place," muttered Wagarag, shaking his head gloomily. "We both belong on this Mountain and no good will come of this expedition." "You forget the flagon," exulted Mogodore. "I shall at last know the secret of the forbidden flagon." "Have it your own way," sighed Wagarag, with a resigned shrug. "But don't blame me if we're all turned to sticks by the Wizard of Oz and thrown into the fire." "Ha! Ha!" shouted Mogodore, more amused than frightened by this terrible threat. "You'll make a splendid stick, old fellow." Laughing noisily, the bad, bold baron tramped cheerfully off to bed. CHAPTER 10 The City of Baffleburg A strange, shrill squeaking wakened Peter next morning, and starting up he saw that it was the Iffin. Sitting on a flat stone, the tiny monster was practising his gr--rrs. "If only I could growl again, I wouldn't mind my size," mourned Snif, looking sadly up at Peter. "Can't fight! Can't growl! A fine fix for a fabulous monster!" "But you can think," answered Peter cheerfully. "And you're free. Just wait till we've conquered this silly old baron and come to the Emerald City. You'll be a sure-enough griffin then. But I kinda like you little," he added loyally, "and I should think it would be rather an interesting experience."