The Witch danced with rage, and summoned Liir. “Your dog is dead, look what they did!” she cried. “Look and make sure that I didn’t only imagine it!”
“Well, I didn’t like that dog very much anymore,” said Liir. “He had a good long life, anyway.” He concurred, tremblingly, but then trained the glass on the slope again.
“You fool, that Dorothy is not for messing with!” she cried, slapping the instrument out of his hand.
“You’re awfully on edge for someone about to have company,” he said sullenly.
“They are supposed to be coming to kill me, if you remember,” she said, although she had forgotten that, as she had forgotten her desire for the shoes until she saw them again in the glass. The Wizard had not demanded them of Dorothy! Why not? What fresh campaign of intrigue was this?
She wheeled about her room, whipping pages of the Grimmerie back and forth. She recited a spell, did it wrong, did it again, and then turned and tried to apply it to the crows. Though the original three crows had long since fallen stiffly from the top of the door frame, there were plenty of others in residence still, rather inbred and silly, but suggestible in a stupid, moblike way.
“Go,” she said. “Look with your eyes more closely than I can, pull the mask off the Scarecrow so we can know who he is. Get them for me. Peck out the eyes of Dorothy and the Lion. And three of you, go on ahead to the old Princess Nastoya, out there in the Thousand Year Grasslands, for the time is coming when we will be reunited, all of us. With the help of the Grimmerie, the Wizard may topple at last!”
“I never know what you’re talking about anymore,” said Liir. “You can’t blind them!”
“Oh, watch me,” snarled the Witch. The crows blew away in a black cloud and dropped like buckshot through the sky, down the jagged precipices, until they came to the travelers.
“A pretty sunset, is there?” said Nanny, coming up to the Witch’s room in one of her rare forays, Chistery as always providing service.
“She’s sent the crows out to blind the guests coming for dinner!”
“What?”
“She’s BLINDING THE GUESTS COMING FOR DINNER!”
“Well, that’s one way to avoid having to dust, I suppose.”
“Will you lunatics hush up?” The Witch was twitching as if with a nervous disorder; her elbows flapped, as if she were a crow herself. She gave out a long howl when she found them in the glass.
“What, what, let me see,” said Liir, grabbing the thing. He explained to Nanny, because the Witch was almost beyond speech by now. “Well, I guess the Scarecrow knows how to scare crows, all right.”
“Why, what’s he done?”
“They’re not coming back, that’s all I’ll say,” said Liir, glancing at the Witch.
“It still could be him,” she said at last, breathing heavily. “You might get your wish yet, Liir.”
“My wish?” He didn’t remember asking for a father, and she didn’t bother to remind him. Nothing had yet suggested to her that the Scarecrow wasn’t a man in disguise. She would not need forgiveness if Fiyero had not died!
The light was failing, and the odd band of friends was making good time up the hill. They had come without an escort of soldiers, perhaps because the soldiers really believed that Kiamo Ko was run by a Wicked Witch.
“Come on, bees,” said the Witch, “work with me now. All together on this one, honeys. We need a little sting, we need a little zip, we want a little nasty, can you give us a little jab? No, not us, listen when I talk to you, you simpletons! The girl on the hill below. She’s after your Queen Bee! And when you’re through with your job, I’ll go down and collect those shoes.”
“What’s that old hag blathering about now?” said Nanny to Liir.
The bees were alert to the pitch in the Witch’s voice, and they rose to swarm out the window.
“You watch, I can’t look,” said the Witch.
“The moon is just like a pretty peach rising over the mountains,” said Nanny with the telescope to her old cataracted eye. “Why don’t we put in some peach trees instead of all those infernal apples in the back?”
“The bees, Nanny. Liir, take that from her and tell me what happens.”
Liir gave a blow-by-blow recounting. “They’re swooping down, they look like a genie or something, all flying in a big clump with a straggly tail. The travelers see them coming. Yes! Yes! The Scarecrow is taking straw out of his chest and leggings, and covering the Lion and Dorothy, and there’s a little dog, too. So the bees can’t get through the straw, and the Scarecrow is all in pieces on the ground.”
It couldn’t be. The Witch grabbed the eyepiece. “Liir, you are a filthy liar,” she shouted. Her heart roared like a wind.
But it was true. There was nothing but straw and air inside the Scarecrow’s clothes. No hidden lover returning, no last hope of salvation.
And the bees, having none left to attack but the Tin Woodman, flung themselves against him, and dropped in black heaps on the ground, like charred shadows, their stingers blunted on his fenders.
“You’ve got to give our guests credit for ingenuity,” said Liir.
“Will you shut up before I tie your tongue in a knot?” said the Witch.
“I suppose I should start down and get some hors d’oeuvres going, they’ll be peckish after these ordeals you’re setting them,” said Nanny. “Have you an opinion as to cheese and crackers or fresh vegetables with pepper sauce?”
“I say cheese,” said Liir.
“Elphaba? What’s your opinion?”
But she was too busy doing research in the Grimmerie. “It’s up to me, as always was the case,” said Nanny. “I get to do all the work. I’m supposed to be teary with joy, at my age. You’d think I could rest my feet for once, but no. Always the bridesmaid, never the bride.”
“Always the godfather, never the god,” said Liir.
“Will you two please have mercy on me! Now go on, Nanny, if you’re going!” Nanny headed out the door as fast as her old limbs could take her. The Witch said, “Chistery, let her go under her own steam, I need you here.”
“Sure, let me tumble to my death, delighted to be of service,” said Nanny. “It’s going to be cheese, for that.”
The Witch explained to Chistery what she wanted. “This is foolish. It’ll be dark before long, and they’ll tumble over some cliff and die. The poor dears, I’d rather not. I mean the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow, they can tumble all they want, and not be much hurt, I imagine. A good tinsmith could repair a battered torso. But bring me Dorothy and the Lion. Dorothy has my shoes, and I have a rendezvous with the Lion. We’re old friends. Can you do this?”
Chistery squinted, nodded, shook his head, shrugged, spat.
“Well try, what good are you if you don’t try,” she said. “Off with you, and your cronies with you.”
She turned to Liir. “There, are you satisfied? I haven’t asked them to be killed. They’re being escorted here as our guests. I’ll get the shoes and let them go on their way. And then I’ll walk this Grimmerie into the mountains and live in a cave. You’re old enough to take care of yourself. Good riddance to bad rubbish. Who needs forgiveness now? Well?”
“They’re coming to kill you,” he said.
“Yes, and aren’t you just breathless with anticipation for that!”
“I’ll protect you,” he said, uneasily, and then added, “but not to the extent of harming Dorothy.”
“Oh, go set the table, and tell Nanny to forget the cheese and crackers, and go with the vegetables.” She shook her broom at him. “Go, I tell you, when I tell you to go!”
When she was alone, she sank in a heap. Either phenomenal luck lay with these travelers, or they had enough courage, brains, and heart among them to do quite well. She was taking the wrong approach, clearly. She should welcome the child, explain the situation nicely, and get the damned shoes while she could. With the shoes, with the help of the Princess Nastoya, maybe there would be vengeance against the W
izard yet. Anyway, the Grimmerie would be hidden. One way or the other. And the shoes removed outside the Wizard’s reach.
But the shock of the death of her familiars made her blood run cold inside her. She could feel her thoughts and intentions tumbling over and over one another. And she wasn’t really sure what she would do when face-to-face with Dorothy.
16
Liir and Nanny stood on either side of the doorway, smiling, when Chistery and his companions came down with an ill-judged whump, dumping their passengers onto the cobbles of the inner courtyard. The Lion moaned in pain and wept from vertigo. Dorothy sat up, clutching the small dog in her arms, and said, “And where might we be now?”
“Welcome,” said Nanny, genuflecting.
“Hello,” said Liir, twisting one foot around the other and falling over into a bucket of water.
“You must be tired after your long trip,” said Nanny. “Would you like to freshen up some before we have a little light meal? Nothing fancy, you know, we’re way off the beaten track.”
“This is Kiamo Ko,” said Liir, beet red and standing up again. “The stronghold of the Arjiki tribe.”
“This is still Winkie territory?” said the girl anxiously.
“What’d she say, the little poppins, tell her to speak up,” said Nanny.
“It’s called the Vinkus,” said Liir. “Winkie is a kind of insult.”
“Oh goodness, I wouldn’t want to offend anyone!” she said. “Mercy, no.”
“Aren’t you a pretty little girl, all your arms and legs in the right place, and such delicate sensible inoffensive skin,” said Nanny, smiling.
“I’m Liir,” he said, “and I live here. This is my castle.”
“I’m Dorothy,” she said, “and I’m very worried about my friends—the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow. Oh, please, can’t somebody do something for them? It’s dark, and they’ll be lost!”
“They can’t be hurt. I’ll go get them tomorrow in the daylight,” said Liir. “Promise. I’d do anything. Really, anything.”
“You’re so sweet, just like everyone else here,” said Dorothy. “Oh, Lion, are you all right? Was it terrible?”
“If the Unnamed God had wanted Lions to fly, he’d have given them hot-air balloons,” said the Lion. “I’m afraid I lost my lunch somewhere over the ravine.”
“Warm welcomes,” Nanny chirped. “We’ve been expecting you. I’ve worn my fingers to the bone, making a little something. It’s not much, but everything we have is yours. That’s our motto here in the mountains. The traveler is always welcome. Now let’s go find some hot water and soap at the pump, shall we, and then go in.”
“You’re too kind—but I need to find the Wicked Witch of the West,” Dorothy said. “I said THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST. I’m so sorry to trouble you. And it looks like a perfectly wonderful castle. Perhaps on the way back, if my travels take me this way.”
“Oh, well, she lives here, too,” said Liir. “With me. Don’t worry, she’s here.”
Dorothy looked a little pale. “She is?”
The Witch appeared at the doorway. “She is indeed, and here she is,” she said, and came down the steps at a clip, her skirts whirling, her broom hurrying to keep up. “Well, Chistery, you did good work! I’m glad to see all my efforts haven’t been for naught. You, Dorothy, Dorothy Gale, the one whose house had the nerve to make a crash landing on my sister!”
“Well, it wasn’t my house, in a legal sense, strictly speaking,” said Dorothy, “and in fact it hardly belonged much to Auntie Em and Uncle Henry, except for maybe a couple of windows and the chimney. I mean the Mechanics and Farmers First State Bank of Wichita holds the mortgage, so they’re the responsible parties. I mean if you need to be in touch with someone. They’re the bank that cares,” she explained.
The Witch felt suddenly, oddly calm. “It’s nothing to me who owns the house,” she said. “The fact is that my sister was alive before you arrived, and now she’s dead.”
“Oh, and I’m so very sorry about that,” said Dorothy nervously. “Really I am. I’d have done anything to avoid it. I know how terrible I’d feel if a house fell on Auntie Em. Once a board in the porch roof fell on her. She had a big bump on her head and sang hymns all afternoon, but by evening she was her old cranky self.”
Dorothy tucked her little dog under her arm and went up and took the Witch’s hands in hers. “Really I’m sorry,” she insisted. “It’s a terrible thing to lose someone. I lost my parents when I was small, and I remember.”
“Get off me,” said the Witch, “I hate false sentiment. It makes my skin crawl.”
But the girl held on, with a ragged sort of intensity, and said nothing, just waited.
“Let go, let go,” said the Witch.
“Were you close to your sister?” asked Dorothy.
“That’s not the point,” she snapped.
“Because I was very close to my Mama, and when she and Papa were lost at sea, I could hardly bear it.”
“Lost at sea, how do you mean,” said the Witch, detaching herself from the clinging child.
“They were on their way to visit my grandmama in the old country, because she was dying, and a storm came up and their ship went over and broke in half and sank to the bottom of the sea. And they drowned, every soul onboard.”
“Oh, so they had souls,” said the Witch, her mind recoiling at the image of a ship in all that water.
“And still do. That’s all they have left, I suspect.”
“Please will you not cling so. And come in for something to eat.”
“Come on, you too,” said the girl to the Lion, and it sulkily rolled onto its big padded paws and followed along.
So now we turn into a restaurant, thought the Witch darkly. What, shall I send a flying monkey down to Red Windmill to engage a violinist, for mood music? What a most peculiar murderer she is turning out to be.
The Witch began to think about how she might disarm the girl. It was hard to tell what her weapons were, except for that sort of inane good sense and emotional honesty.
During dinner Dorothy began to cry.
“What, she would have preferred the vegetables to the cheese?” said Nanny.
But the girl would not answer. She set both her hands on the scrubbed oaken tabletop, and her shoulders shook with grief. Liir longed to get up and wrap his arms around her. The Witch nodded grimly that he was to stay put. He whacked his milk mug hard on the table, in annoyance.
“It’s all very nice,” Dorothy said at last, sniffling, “but I am so worried for Uncle Henry and Auntie Em. Uncle Henry frets so when I’m just a wee bit late from the schoolhouse, and Auntie Em—well, she can be so cross when she’s upset!”
“All Aunties are cross,” said Liir.
“Eat up, for who knows when another meal will come your way,” said the Witch.
The girl tried to eat, but kept dissolving in tears. Eventually Liir began to tear up, too. The little dog, Toto, begged for scraps, which made the Witch think of her own losses. Killyjoy, who had been with her eight years, a fly-ridden corpse going stiff on the hill among all his progeny. She cared less about the bees and the crows, but Killyjoy was her special pet.
“Well, this is some party,” said Nanny. “I wonder if I should have prettied things up with a candle.”
“Kindle candle can dull,” said Chistery.
Nanny lit a candle and sang “Happy Birthday to You,” to make Dorothy feel better, but no one joined in.
Then silence fell. Only Nanny kept eating, finishing the cheese and starting on the candle. Liir was turning white and pink by turns, and Dorothy had begun to stare blankly at a knothole in the polished wood of the trestle table. The Witch scratched her fingers with her knife, and ran the blade along her forefinger softly, as if it were the feather of a pfenix.
“What’s going to happen to me,” said Dorothy, lapsing into a monotone. “I shouldn’t have come here.”
“Nanny, Liir,” said the Witch, “take yourselves off
to the kitchen. Bring the Lion with you.”
“Is that old bag talking to me?” Nanny asked Liir. “Why’s the little girl crying, our food not good enough for her?”
“I’m not leaving Dorothy’s side!” said the Lion.
“Don’t I know you?” said the Witch in a low, even voice. “You were the cub they did experiments with in the science lab at Shiz long ago. You were terrified then and I spoke up for you. I’ll save you again if you behave.”
“I don’t want to be saved,” said the Lion petulantly.
“I know the feeling,” said the Witch. “But you can teach me something about Animals in the wild. Whether they revert, or how much. I take it you were raised in the wild. You can be of service. You can protect me when I go out of here with my Grimmerie, my book of magicks, my Malleus Maleficarum, my mesmerizing incunabulum, my codex of scarabee, fylfot and gammadion, my text thaumaturgical.”
The Lion roared, so suddenly they were all jolted in their seats, even Dorothy. “Thunder at night, devil’s delight,” observed Nanny, glancing out the window. “I better take in the laundry.”
“I’m bigger than you,” said the Lion to the Witch, “and I’m not letting Dorothy alone with you.”
The Witch swooped down and gathered the little dog in her arms. “Chistery, go dump this thing in the fishwell,” she said. Chistery looked dubious, but scampered away with Toto under his arm like a yapping furry loaf of bread.
“Oh no, save him, someone!” said Dorothy. The Witch shot out her hand and pinned her to the table, but the Lion had catapulted into the kitchen after the snow monkey and Toto.
“Liir, lock the kitchen door,” shouted the Witch. “Bar it so they can’t come back.”
“No, no,” cried Dorothy, “I’ll go with you, just don’t hurt Toto! He’s done nothing to you!” She turned to Liir, and said, “Please don’t let that monkey hurt my Toto. The Lion is useless, don’t trust him to save my little dog!”
“Do I take it we’ll have pudding by the fire?” said Nanny, looking up brightly. “It’s caramel custard.”
The Witch took Dorothy’s hand and began to lead her away. Liir suddenly leaped over and took hold of Dorothy’s other hand. “You old hag, let her alone,” he shouted.
The Wicked Years Complete Collection Page 47