“Attention! Let me have your attention!” insisted the king, leaping to his feet and pounding the table. The command was entirely unnecessary, for the moment he began to speak everyone but Milo, Tock, and the distraught bug rushed from the hall, down the stairs, and out of the palace.
“Loyal subjects and friends,” continued Azaz, his voice echoing in the almost empty room, “once again on this gala occasion we have——”
“Pardon me,” coughed Milo as politely as possible, “but everyone has gone.”
“I was hoping no one would notice,” said the king sadly. “It happens every time.”
“They’ve all gone to dinner,” announced the Humbug weakly, “and just as soon as I catch my breath I shall join them.”
“That’s ridiculous. How can they eat dinner right after a banquet?” asked Milo.
“SCANDALOUS!” shouted the king. “We’ll put a stop to it at once. From now on, by royal command, everyone must eat dinner before the banquet.”
“But that’s just as bad,” protested Milo.
“You mean just as good,” corrected the Humbug. “Things which are equally bad are also equally good. Try to look at the bright side of things.”
“I don’t know which side of anything to look at,” protested Milo. “Everything is so confusing and all your words only make things worse.”
“How true,” said the unhappy king, resting his regal chin on his royal fist as he thought fondly of the old days. “There must be something we can do about it.”
“Pass a law,” the Humbug suggested brightly.
“We have almost as many laws as words,” grumbled the king.
“Offer a reward,” offered the bug again.
The king shook his head and looked sadder and sadder.
“Send for help.”
“Drive a bargain.”
“Pull the switch.”
“File a brief.”
“Lower the boom.”
“Toe the line.”
“Raise the bridge.”
“Bar the door,” shouted the bug, jumping up and down and waving his arms. Then he promptly sat down as the king glanced furiously in his direction.
“Perhaps you might allow Rhyme and Reason to return,” said Milo softly, for he had been waiting for just such an opportunity to suggest it.
“How nice that would be,” said Azaz, straightening up and adjusting his crown. “Even if they were a bother at times, things always went so well when they were here.” As he spoke he leaned back on the throne, clasped his hands behind his head, and stared thoughtfully at the ceiling. “But I’m afraid it can’t be done.”
“Certainly not; it can’t be done,” repeated the Humbug.
“Why not?” asked Milo.
“Why not indeed?” exclaimed the bug, who seemed equally at home on either side of an argument.
“Much too difficult,” replied the king.
“Of course,” emphasized the bug, “much too difficult.”
“You could if you really wanted to,” insisted Milo.
“By all means, if you really wanted to, you could,” the Humbug agreed.
“How?” asked Azaz, glaring at the bug.
“How?” inquired Milo, looking the same way.
“A simple task,” began the Humbug, suddenly wishing he were somewhere else, “for a brave lad with a stout heart, a steadfast dog, and a serviceable small automobile.”
“Go on,” commanded the king.
“Yes, please,” seconded Milo.
“All that he would have to do,” continued the worried bug, “is travel through miles of harrowing and hazardous countryside, into unknown valleys and uncharted forests, past yawning chasms and trackless wastes, until he reached Digitopolis (if, of course, he ever reached there). Then he would have to persuade the Mathemagician to agree to release the little princesses—and, of course, he’d never agree to agree to anything that you agreed with. And, anyway, if he did, you certainly wouldn’t agree to it.
“From there it’s a simple matter of entering the Mountains of Ignorance, full of perilous pitfalls and ominous overtones—a land to which many venture but few return, and whose evil demons slither slowly from peak to peak in search of prey. Then an effortless climb up a two-thousand-step circular stairway without railings in a high wind at night (for in those mountains it is always night) to the Castle in the Air.”
He paused momentarily for breath, then began again.
“After a pleasant chat with the princesses, all that remains is a leisurely ride back through those chaotic crags whose frightening fiends have sworn to tear any intruder limb from limb and devour him down to his belt buckle.
“And, finally, after the long ride back, a triumphal parade (if, of course, there is anything left to parade) followed by hot chocolate and cookies for everyone.” The Humbug bowed low and sat down once again, very pleased with himself.
“I never realized it would be so simple,” said the king, stroking his beard and smiling broadly.
“Quite simple indeed,” concurred the bug.
“It sounds dangerous to me,” said Milo.
“Most dangerous, most dangerous,” mumbled the Humbug, still trying to be in agreement with everybody.
“Who will make the journey?” asked Tock, who had been listening very carefully to the Humbug’s description.
“A very good question,” replied the king. “But there is one far more serious problem.”
“What is it?” asked Milo, who was rather unhappy at the turn the conversation had taken.
“I’m afraid I can tell you that only when you return,” cried the king, clapping his hands three times. As he did so, the waiters rushed back into the room and quickly cleared away the dishes, the silver, the tablecloth, the table, the chairs, the banquet hall, and the palace, leaving them all suddenly standing in the market place.
“Of course you realize that I would like to make the trip myself,” continued Azaz, striding across the square as if nothing had happened; “but, since it was your idea, you shall have all the honor and fame.”
“But you see——” began Milo.
“Dictionopolis will always be grateful, my boy,” interrupted the king, throwing one arm around Milo and patting Tock with the other. “You will face many dangers on your journey, but fear not, for I have brought you this for your protection.”
He drew from inside his cape a small heavy box about the size of a schoolbook and handed it ceremoniously to Milo.
“In this box are all the words I know,” he said. “Most of them you will never need, some you will use constantly, but with them you may ask all the questions which have never been answered and answer all the questions which have never been asked. All the great books of the past and all the ones yet to come are made with these words. With them there is no obstacle you cannot overcome. All you must learn to do is use them well and in the right places.”
Milo accepted the gift with thanks and the little group walked to the car, still parked at the edge of the square.
“You will, of course, need a guide,” said the king, “and, since he knows the obstacles so well, the Humbug has cheerfully volunteered to accompany you.”
“Now see here,” cried the startled bug, for that was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.
“You will find him dependable, brave, resourceful, and loyal,” continued Azaz, and the Humbug was so overcome by the flattery that he quite forgot to object again.
“I’m sure he’ll be a great help,” cried Milo as they drove across the square.
“I hope so,” thought Tock to himself, for he was far less sure.
“Good luck, good luck; do be careful!” shouted the king, and down the road they went.
Milo and Tock wondered what strange adventures lay ahead. The Humbug speculated on how he’d ever become involved in such a hazardous undertaking. And the crowd waved and cheered wildly, for, while they didn’t care at all about anyone arriving, they were always very pleased to see someone go.
9. It’s All in How You Look at Things
Soon all traces of Dictionopolis had vanished in the distance and all those strange and unknown lands that lay between the kingdom of words and the kingdom of numbers stretched before them. It was late afternoon and the dark-orange sun floated heavily over the distant mountains. A friendly, cool breeze slapped playfully at the car, and the long shadows stretched out lazily from the trees and bushes.
“Ah, the open road!” exclaimed the Humbug, breathing deeply, for he now seemed happily resigned to the trip. “The spirit of adventure, the lure of the unknown, the thrill of a gallant quest. How very grand indeed.” Then, pleased with himself, he folded his arms, sat back, and left it at that.
In a few more minutes they had left the open countryside and driven into a dense forest.
“THIS IS THE SCENIC ROUTE: STRAIGHT AHEAD TO POINT OF VIEW”
announced a rather large road sign; but, contrary to its statement, all that could be seen were more trees. As the car rushed along, the trees grew thicker and taller and leafier until, just as they’d hidden the sky completely, the forest abruptly ended and the road bent itself around a broad promontory. Stretching below, to the left, the right, and straight ahead, as far as anyone could see, lay the rich green landscape through which they had been traveling.
“Remarkable view,” announced the Humbug, bouncing from the car as if he were responsible for the whole thing.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” gasped Milo.
“Oh, I don’t know,” answered a strange voice. “It’s all in the way you look at things.”
“I beg your pardon?” said Milo, for he didn’t see who had spoken.
“I said it’s all in how you look at things,” repeated the voice.
Milo turned around and found himself staring at two very neatly polished brown shoes, for standing directly in front of him (if you can use the word “standing” for anyone suspended in mid-air) was another boy just about his age, whose feet were easily three feet off the ground.
“For instance,” continued the boy, “if you happened to like deserts, you might not think this was beautiful at all.”
“That’s true,” said the Humbug, who didn’t like to contradict anyone whose feet were that far off the ground.
“For instance,” said the boy again, “if Christmas trees were people and people were Christmas trees, we’d all be chopped down, put up in the living room, and covered with tinsel, while the trees opened our presents.”
“What does that have to do with it?” asked Milo.
“Nothing at all,” he answered, “but it’s an interesting possibility, don’t you think?”
“How do you manage to stand up there?” asked Milo, for this was the subject which most interested him.
“I was about to ask you a similar question,” answered the boy, “for you must be much older than you look to be standing on the ground.”
“What do you mean?” Milo asked.
“Well,” said the boy, “in my family everyone is born in the air, with his head at exactly the height it’s going to be when he’s an adult, and then we all grow toward the ground. When we’re fully grown up or, as you can see, grown down, our feet finally touch. Of course, there are a few of us whose feet never reach the ground no matter how old we get, but I suppose it’s the same in every family.”
He hopped a few steps in the air, skipped back to where he started, and then began again.
“You certainly must be very old to have reached the ground already.”
“Oh no,” said Milo seriously. “In my family we all start on the ground and grow up, and we never know how far until we actually get there.”
“What a silly system.” The boy laughed. “Then your head keeps changing its height and you always see things in a different way? Why, when you’re fifteen things won’t look at all the way they did when you were ten, and at twenty everything will change again.”
“I suppose so,” replied Milo, for he had never really thought about the matter.
“We always see things from the same angle,” the boy continued. “It’s much less trouble that way. Besides, it makes more sense to grow down and not up. When you’re very young, you can never hurt yourself falling down if you’re in mid-air, and you certainly can’t get into trouble for scuffing up your shoes or marking the floor if there’s nothing to scuff them on and the floor is three feet away.”
“That’s very true,” thought Tock, who wondered how the dogs in the family liked the arrangement.
“But there are many other ways to look at things,” remarked the boy. “For instance, you had orange juice, boiled eggs, toast and jam, and milk for breakfast,” he said, turning to Milo. “And you are always worried about people wasting time,” he said to Tock. “And you are almost never right about anything,” he said, pointing at the Humbug, “and, when you are, it’s usually an accident.”
“A gross exaggeration,” protested the furious bug, who didn’t realize that so much was visible to the naked eye.
“Amazing,” gasped Tock.
“How do you know all that?” asked Milo.
“Simple,” he said proudly. “I’m Alec Bings; I see through things. I can see whatever is inside, behind, around, covered by, or subsequent to anything else. In fact, the only thing I can’t see is whatever happens to be right in front of my nose.”
“Isn’t that a little inconvenient?” asked Milo, whose neck was becoming quite stiff from looking up.
“It is a little,” replied Alec, “but it is quite important to know what lies behind things, and the family helps me take care of the rest. My father sees to things, my mother looks after things, my brother sees beyond things, my uncle sees the other side of every question, and my little sister Alice sees under things.”
“How can she see under things if she’s all the way up there?” growled the Humbug.
“Well,” added Alec, turning a neat cartwheel, “whatever she can’t see under, she overlooks.”
“Would it be possible for me to see something from up there?” asked Milo politely.
“You could,” said Alec, “but only if you try very hard to look at things as an adult does.”
Milo tried as hard as he could, and, as he did, his feet floated slowly off the ground until he was standing in the air next to Alec Bings. He looked around very quickly and, an instant later, crashed back down to earth again.
“Interesting, wasn’t it?” asked Alec.
“Yes, it was,” agreed Milo, rubbing his head and dusting himself off, “but I think I’ll continue to see things as a child. It’s not so far to fall.”
“A wise decision, at least for the time being,” said Alec. “Everyone should have his own point of view.”
“Isn’t this everyone’s Point of View?” asked Tock, looking around curiously.
“Of course not,” replied Alec, sitting himself down on nothing. “It’s only mine, and you certainly can’t always look at things from someone else’s Point of View. For instance, from here that looks like a bucket of water,” he said, pointing to a bucket of water; “but from an ant’s point of view it’s a vast ocean, from an elephant’s just a cool drink, and to a fish, of course, it’s home. So, you see, the way you see things depends a great deal on where you look at them from. Now, come along and I’ll show you the rest of the forest.”
He ran quickly through the air, stopping occasionally to beckon Milo, Tock, and the Humbug along, and they followed as well as anyone who had to stay on the ground could.
“Does everyone here grow the way you do?” puffed Milo when he had caught up.
“Almost everyone,” replied Alec, and then he stopped a moment and thought. “Now and then, though, someone does begin to grow differently. Instead of down, his feet grow up toward the sky. But we do our best to discourage awkward things like that.”
“What happens to
10. A Colorful Symphony
As they ran, tall trees closed in around them and arched gracefully toward the sky. The late-afternoon sunlight leaped lightly from leaf to leaf, slid along branches and down trunks, and dropped finally to the ground in warm, luminous patches. A soft glow filled the air with the kind of light that made everything look sharp and clear and close enough to reach out and touch.