Now Polly was angry. “You’ve been in Rainbow Falls for all of a few weeks, you take off whenever you feel like it, and you want to try and tell me how to run my own kingdom?”
“No, babe, no,” he said, trying now to calm her down. “Come on, you know I didn’t mean it like that. I just think—”
“I don’t know what you mean because I barely know you,” Polly said, sitting up, her back ramrod straight. “And I think you have a lot of nerve trying to boss me around in my own palace.”
“I’m not—”
She stood up, gathering her cloud silk coverlet around her. “Don’t you have waves to catch?” she said coolly.
Bright took the hint. He held up his hands in a placating gesture and slid out of her bed, picking his clothes up off the floor. “Okay, Polly, sorry. I really am. I’m just worried, is all. I don’t know why she’d come here or what she wants if everything I’ve been hearing is true. This place is really special. And . . .” He paused. “And so are you. I don’t want anything bad to happen.”
“Nothing bad ever happens in Rainbow Falls.”
“You remember when we were on the water that first night? You sent a wave to help me—it was a reflex. You didn’t let me fall. I’m not telling you what to do, I don’t want to rule. But if I see your board about to go under, I have to say something. It’s my reflex. Surfer code. We gotta look out for each other.”
When he said “reflex” he looked at her intently. He said “reflex,” but she heard something more. Normally, this was the part where she would get up or protest, or have a sudden need to go get a snack. But instead, she felt the urge to climb back into bed and lay her head on his chest so she could listen to his heart.
But she couldn’t let him tell her how to run her kingdom. And she wasn’t going to let him rule her heart.
“When I corrected that wave, I did it so I could get a better view of your abs.”
Bright didn’t blink. “I know you care about more than my abs, Polychrome. And I know how much you love Rainbow Falls. It’s okay to show it.”
The words hung between them for a beat. And she could feel her heart racing with a mixture of anger and longing.
If he stayed a minute more, she would give in to the latter. And she couldn’t have that. He wasn’t going to insult her guests, and he certainly wasn’t going to tell her how to run the kingdom she’d ruled successfully for years. “I need some rest,” she said finally. “And some time to think.”
“Can I . . . Am I . . . welcome to return?” Bright seemed genuinely earnest.
“If you start practicing your apology now,” she said. “Maybe.”
He nodded and smiled briefly, but his expression turned serious again in an instant. “I mean what I said, Polly. Please be careful. That girl isn’t what she seems.”
“Out,” Polly said. “Before I change my mind.”
He smiled again for real this time. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“If you’re lucky,” Polly said, and threw a pillow at him, but he had already let himself out the door, and her missile landed on the polished lacewood with an unsatisfying thump.
Try as she might, Polly couldn’t get Bright’s words out of her head. Over the next few days, as she showed her new friend more of the splendors of Rainbow Falls—its magical beaches, the fern-frond ravines and jungly places, the mysterious and dazzling creatures that floated through its mists and swam in its rainbows—she paid close attention to Dorothy’s words and gestures. There was nothing sinister about the girl, Polly told herself. True, she was a little spoiled, obviously used to getting her own way. She was likely to fly into a tantrum if Polly said the slightest thing wrong. But she was also far from home, in a completely different world. And most of the time, she was fun to be around, enthusiastic and giggly.
The girls spent their evenings fixing each other’s hair, or trying out Dorothy’s extensive nail polish collection, or conjuring up more and more elaborate outfits. When the Sprites came to Polly with various problems or questions, she waved them away. How often did she have a guest as illustrious as Dorothy the Witchslayer? The kingdom could wait.
One day, as Dorothy and Polly were sunning themselves on Indigo Beach—Dorothy had refused to learn to surf, but she had at least built up a good base for a tan—Dorothy turned to Polly, pillowing her head on her hand. “Polly, will you teach me magic?”
“What do you mean?” Polly asked. “Don’t you know magic already?”
“I mean special magic.” Dorothy nodded toward the Rainbow Sea. “Rainbow magic.” She paused. “Fairy magic.”
A chill flashed briefly through Polly. She suddenly remembered Bright’s warning: she’s power-hungry. “Fairy magic is for fairies, Dorothy,” she said neutrally.
Dorothy pouted. “It’s not some big secret,” she said. “Or if it is, I don’t understand why you can’t just tell me. What’s the big deal?”
“It’s just that you have to be a fairy to use fairy magic,” Polly explained. “Ordinary people can’t just—”
“You think I’m ordinary?”
“Of course not, Dorothy. It’s just that—”
“You don’t trust me,” Dorothy said. Her lower lip began its all-too-familiar quiver. “You don’t trust me! After all the time we’ve spent together! Polly, I was starting to think of you like a sister, and now you spring this on me?”
“I trust you, Dorothy,” Polly said. “But I can’t teach you something you can’t learn.”
Dorothy rolled over on her side, her back to Polly. When she spoke again her voice was muffled, as if through tears. “I’ve never had a real friend,” she said. “Nothing like you, Polly. It hurts so much to know that you think so little of me.”
“I’m sorry, Dorothy,” Polly said. But for the first time, she began to wonder if Dorothy’s routine was just that—a routine. If perhaps Dorothy was far more calculating than she seemed.
Had she come to Rainbow Falls to learn magic, and was she just pretending to want to spend time with Polly? And if she did just want to learn magic, what did she need it for?
Could Bright be partly right? It wasn’t possible that Dorothy was a murderer. That was a rumor too ridiculous to even consider. But maybe, just maybe, there was something to all these other stories he’d alluded to.
Polly tried not to let the worry eat at her for the rest of the afternoon. Dorothy dropped the subject of magic—although, knowing Dorothy, not for long—and was back to her usual giggly self in an instant. The girls swam in the purple waves, snacked on sunfruit, and got drunk before dinner on dazzleberry cordial.
Dorothy got drunk, anyway. Polly just sipped at her glass, watchful. And when Dorothy’s head lolled on her shoulders and the glass dropped from her fingers, hitting the floor with a thud, Polly tiptoed out of the Crystal Palace and on to the front terrace. “Carpet!” she called softly. “I need a favor!”
The carpet had reacted to her most recent summonses with dread; Dorothy couldn’t manage to go anywhere without at least a dozen bags. But when it saw that Polly was alone, it waved a corner happily. “No, Heathcliff isn’t coming,” she told it. “He’s off hunting somewhere, and anyway I shouldn’t be long. Take me to the Emerald City, dear carpet.”
The carpet lifted her up toward the sky, and Polly settled in for the ride.
It was time to find out just how much truth was behind Bright’s rumors.
SIX
Polly landed just inside the walls of the Emerald City. The carpet rolled itself up neatly and tucked itself away in an inconspicuous corner. “No running off,” Polly told it sternly. “I need to go back, too.” The carpet looked sheepish. It had a bad habit of going on solo adventures just when Polly needed it—ironic, if she thought about it, but of course she didn’t.
Nothing seemed out of place in the Emerald City. Not at first, anyway. The streets were just as neat and tidy as ever. The houses lay in orderly rows, their gardens well tended. Beyond a central square, the Road of Yellow Brick gleamed wit
h a lustrous aura, just as it had always done. Throngs of Munchkins bustled about their business, shopping and working and sweeping and cooking and doing all the mundane tiresome sorts of things ordinary people did (Polly had given up chores long ago). Everything looked exactly as it always had.
But still, Polly could tell that something was wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it at first, and then she realized: no one would meet her eyes. No one said hello. There was no friendly chatter, no neighbor greeting neighbor with a cheerful wave, no children playing in the street, no housewives gossiping over the back fence as they pinned up their laundry to dry.
No one talked to Polly at all. The Munchkins parted ways for her as seamlessly as a wave splitting, but none of them would look at her. It was as if she was a ghost.
And everywhere, Polly saw fear.
Not the kind of fear that she was used to: a tourist who’d lost track of her child, a Sprite who Carmine was chastising for overlooking a guest’s needs, a Gillikin who couldn’t swim trying to surf. A completely different kind of fear.
But their fear was only in their eyes. Their tiny mouths were stretched wide into identical, unnatural smiles. She squinted, half expecting to see some kind of pins holding their smiles up, but there were none. She wondered if it was a spell. All she knew for sure was that the smiles did not go up to their eyes, which were wild with the same fear that she seemed to feel everywhere.
They were terrified. It was the fear of a person waiting for something bad to happen. The fear of a person who knew she didn’t dare make a single misstep.
It was a kind of fear Polly had never seen in Oz before. And it was making her very, very nervous. Her mind went to Dorothy’s Happiness Decree idea, and her complaints about the Munchkins. Is it possible she’d already put the decree into place? She made her way to the Emerald Palace. It was shut tight—another thing that had never happened before, not since Dorothy had ousted the Wizard all those long years ago. In Ozma’s time, the drawbridge to the palace was always down, its gates wide open. But now it looked like a fortress.
Polly whispered a command and floated over the moat, up and over the castle walls. Which, she saw, were guarded—another first. She reached up into the sky, pulling down a cloak of clouds like a child grabbing at cotton candy, covering herself from the sentries’ view. They were creatures she’d never seen before—they looked more like machines than people. She blinked, looking more closely. They looked like machines that had once been people. They looked like Winkies, but Winkies as they’d never been in the entire history of Oz. Some of their limbs were gone, replaced by knife-edged wheels or sharp blades or barbed hooks. Where fur met metal, the edges were bloody and infected-looking. Their faces were blank, their eyes empty as they marched back and forth atop the palace walls like robots.
Polly swallowed hard. Who had done such a horrible thing?
Still swathed in cloud cover, she landed lightly in front of the palace’s immense main door. Like everything else, it was shut tight. An eerie silence, thick as mist, hung over the courtyard. When Polly knocked, her sharp rap echoed against the stone like the shot of a gun.
She waited for a long time, and then she knocked again. And again. Finally, a small hatch at head height swung open, and a blond girl peered out. She was about Dorothy’s age, and her face was fixed in a horrible rictus of a smile. “Good afternoon!” she called out in a singsong voice. “By decree of the honorable general, His Eminence the Woodman, the palace is closed to visitors today and every other day! Tourists may apply for a visa at permit office G—” She broke off and looked out the hatch, puzzled, as Polly stepped out of a shadow.
The girl jumped about a mile.
“Your Rainbow Highness!” she whispered, her eyes huge with shock. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you! Please don’t—please don’t be upset with me!”
“There’s no reason you should; I was hiding,” Polly said soothingly. “Of course I’m not upset with you. Who are you? Why is the palace closed?”
The girl looked around wildly, licking her lips with nervousness. “Jellia Jamb, Her Highness’s personal handmaid.”
“You’re Ozma’s maid?” Polly asked in surprise. Ozma had never had a personal maid before.
Jellia’s eyes widened even farther. “Ozma!” Her voice dropped to a shaky whisper. There was no doubt about it: the girl was absolutely terrified. “Ozma is—is—away, miss. I’m Dorothy’s maid. Specially chosen.” She drew herself up, some authority returning, and her voice got firmer. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, Your Highness Polychrome. The palace is closed today.”
“But I’m Ozma’s cousin,” Polly said, bewildered. “The palace has never been—”
“Ozma isn’t here, miss!” Jellia said loudly in her initial singsong voice. “You may apply for a visitor’s visa at permit office G!” She began to shut the hatch, but Polly held up a hand, sending out a puff of air that slammed it back open.
“What is going on here?” she asked.
“Miss—er—Your—Rainbow—Highness—” Jellia began, but behind her someone spoke, and she froze in fear.
“Is there a problem at the gate, Jellia?” The voice was oily and sinister. A trickle of dread crept down Polly’s spine.
Whoever this was, there was no mistaking it: he was evil.
The door swung open with a groan, and Polly had to jump aside to avoid being knocked over. Jellia trembled in front of her, shaking with fear. And behind her stood—
“The Scarecrow?” Polly asked in relief. “It’s good to see you, sir. Can you tell me what’s going on?”
The Scarecrow looked at her with beady little button eyes. There was something off about him, Polly realized. Something almost—
“Whatever do you mean, Daughter of the Rainbow?” he asked, and she almost jumped. The oily, terrifying voice had been his.
Bright’s rumors were true. Something was seriously, seriously wrong in the Emerald Palace.
“The palace is closed today, Your Rainbow Highness,” the Scarecrow said in that same nasty, oily voice. “If you’d like to visit, I’m afraid you’ll have to apply for a permit, just like anyone else. Oz is a democracy now.” He said the word democracy with relish.
Polly drew herself up regally. “I wish to see my cousin,” she said coldly.
“I’m afraid that won’t be possible,” the Scarecrow said. “And now, my dear, you simply must leave.” He held up a hand, and the door began to swing closed again. Polly tried to fight it, but his magic was uncannily strong, and she didn’t want to commit what might be considered an act of war on the threshold of the Emerald Palace.
“Thank you for visiting us and good-bye,” the Scarecrow said smoothly. He was already turning away.
“Wait!” Polly said desperately, but he had vanished down the hall. Jellia looked behind her wildly to make sure he was out of earshot and then turned back to Polly.
“Find Mombi!” she hissed just before the door closed. “Find the Order!”
“The Order?” Polly asked. But the door had slammed shut in her face. And this time, no matter how hard she pounded on it, it did not open again.
Polly stared at the palace, pondering her options. She had no idea what the Order was, or what that old witch Mombi had to do with it. She didn’t even know where Mombi was; she hadn’t heard word of her in years. There was more information inside the Emerald Palace, she was certain of it. She could break in, of course. The Scarecrow’s magic might be strong, but it was nothing compared to hers. The palace couldn’t keep her out. But she didn’t want to do anything hasty, and if the palace was barred to intruders, she’d only call attention to herself by causing a scene.
The best thing to do, she decided, was return to Rainbow Falls and talk to Dorothy. Whatever was going on here, she was beginning to realize that Dorothy had some part in it.
And if Bright was correct, Dorothy was responsible for all of it. It didn’t seem possible that that sweet-faced, tantrum-pitching girl coul
d have caused the sheer terror she’d seen on the Munchkins’ faces, the horrible deformed Winkies, the inexplicable change in the Scarecrow. But this was Oz. The impossible happened every day.
And most importantly, Polly thought, if Dorothy was behind all of this that meant Ozma wasn’t just away, traveling and taking time off. She was in trouble. Bad trouble.
No more questions. It was time for answers.
SEVEN
Dorothy was furious when Polly returned to the Rainbow Citadel. “Where did you go?” she cried, stamping her ruby-red heel ineffectually into the rainbow-colored sand on the beach. “You keep disappearing without telling me anything!”
For the first time, Polly saw that there was more to Dorothy than just a spoiled child. She saw the Winkies marching back and forth like battered automatons. The Scarecrow’s evil, twisted features. Jellia’s and the Munchkins’ fear. Bright’s rumors and Ozma’s disappearance. Dorothy insisting she was the interim ruler of Oz. Jellia calling the Woodman a general. There was one thing they had in common: Dorothy.
She also saw the power in Dorothy’s shoes—shoes she hadn’t paid much attention to before now.
“Tell me what’s really going on, Dorothy,” she said. “Tell me what’s happening in the Emerald City. Tell me what you’ve done.”
“You went to the Emerald City?” Dorothy snarled. Toto, held tightly in Dorothy’s arms, snarled at Polly, too.
How could Polly ever have mistaken her for innocent? Her face was twisted with rage. Her shoes glowed with magic. Her hands twitched as if she was ready to tear off Polly’s head.
“How dare you leave me here!” Dorothy shrieked.
Polly kept her voice even. This time, she wasn’t going to let Dorothy misinterpret her actions into some imagined slight on Polly’s part. This time, she saw exactly what Dorothy was doing.
“Why is the palace closed? Why do you need a general? Where is my cousin?”
Dorothy stared at her, breathing hard. “I told you. Ozma went away.”
Dorothy Must Die Novella #8 Page 5