The Scarecrow brushed aside my protests. “Oh, she’s nothing if not pleasant. I think you two will be great friends. She’s about your age, after all.”
“But . . .” I hesitated, not sure whether to voice my concerns, and then decided that if I couldn’t trust the Scarecrow, my oldest friend, all was lost anyway. “What if Ozma’s the one who did something to Glinda?”
I was of half a mind that the Scarecrow would dismiss the notion as ridiculous. But he didn’t.
“The princess is very powerful,” he said, lowering his voice. “She is very shrewd. But she is also very lonely, and in need of companionship. I urge you, go to the palace and befriend her. She will never be defeated by force, but I’ve always found force to be overrated anyway. If Ozma knows anything about Glinda’s whereabouts, you will be the one who can learn about it. Become close with her. Give her no reason to doubt your intentions.”
I nodded. I understood. I didn’t like it, but I understood.
At that, the Scarecrow summoned for BonBon, who appeared out of nowhere as if he’d squeezed himself up out of a gap in the floorboards.
“Follow me to your quarters, Miss Gale,” he said, extending a gentlemanly hand.
“One more thing,” the Scarecrow said as I scooped a now-dozing Toto into my arms. “For now, I think it’s better that you don’t tell the princess that you’ve seen Glinda at all.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
“And Dorothy: don’t mention the shoes.”
Ten
The next morning, the Scarecrow and I stepped out of his mansion into a bright and breezy day. Every ear of corn and every wildflower glistened and sparkled in the sun, and I took a deep breath, inhaling dewy morning air. It smelled like just-baked cookies.
When I looked closely, I saw that the air was filled with thousands of specks floating on the breeze like dandelion fuzz. The difference was that these specks were silvery and slippery, flying through the air like tiny beads of mercury from a broken thermometer.
One of them landed gently on my face. When I crossed my eyes to get a look at it, I was shocked to see a dainty little person with butterfly wings and a wild tuft of silver hair sitting right on the tip of my nose. And without so much as a hello.
“Oh, don’t mind them,” the Scarecrow said. “It’s Pixie season. They can be quite irritating, but they’re harmless.”
Just as he said it, the creature sank its sharp little teeth into my nose. I was more surprised than actually hurt, but I screamed, swatting at it and spinning around in a circle trying to get it off me.
The Pixie jumped from my face and buzzed around my head, letting out a high-pitched staccato squeal. She was laughing at me.
“Er, mostly harmless,” the Scarecrow said.
“I don’t remember those things from last time,” I said, rubbing at my injury to check for blood.
“They stayed in their hives back in those days,” he explained. “They were afraid of the witches. But Ozma believes in letting them run wild, and they’ve been getting bolder and bolder. You should see what they do to my cornfields.”
“I’m all for Pixies having their freedom,” I sniffed. “I’m an American, after all. But they might be a little more grateful to the girl who gave it to them, don’t you suppose?”
“All the magic in the world couldn’t give a Pixie manners,” the Scarecrow said ruefully. “If I were king, I’d do away with all of them. But Ozma is of the opinion that even Oz’s lowest creatures deserve their freedom. Pixies, Screaming Trees, even Nomes, for heaven’s sake—they’ve all flourished under the princess’s rule.”
They might have been rude, but I couldn’t help being charmed as I watched the little things flitting through the air. “I hope they at least do pretty little spells or something,” I said. “To make up for the nastiness and biting.”
“They certainly do. If you catch one, they’ll grant you exactly one wish,” the Scarecrow said.
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Then what are we waiting for?” I was about to go chasing after the Pixie who had bit me—it would serve her right!—but the Scarecrow caught me by the elbow.
“Don’t bother,” he said. “You can only wish for three things and none of them are very interesting. A dried cod, a hunk of coal, or a darning kit.”
“Aunt Em might like a darning kit,” I said, but I quickly dropped my chase.
That’s when I saw our carriage sitting by the Road of Yellow Brick—a vehicle that would put Henry Ford’s finest automobile to shame. It was a jeweled green sphere of glass etched with delicate swirling patterns, about as big as Uncle Henry’s toolshed, and rather than having wheels it was hovering in the air a few feet off the ground. It was hitched to a crude wooden horse composed of a log sitting on top of four sturdy sticks. It had two knots for eyes, a notch for a mouth, and a twig for a tail.
“Hello there,” the log said.
By now I knew not to be surprised by anything around here, especially not a talking log in the shape of a horse. “Well, hello there,” I greeted him—if you could call a log a him. “I’m Dorothy Gale. Pleased to meet you.”
He turned toward me and whinnied. “I’m the Saw-Horse,” he said. “The fastest horse in all of Oz, of course, and the captain of Ozma’s Royal Guard. I’ll get you to the Emerald City in no time at all.”
Just then, Toto came racing out of the house, followed by Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, who were looking around in a daze, like they hadn’t really expected any of this to still be here. Toto began barking and leaping into the air, trying to catch the Pixies, who dipped and dove around him, taunting him with their squeaky giggles. I hoped he liked dried cod.
“Aunt Em!” I called. “Uncle Henry! The Scarecrow is going to take us to the Emerald City. Isn’t the carriage marvelous?”
“It looks like a big Fabergé egg,” Aunt Em said. “I always found them a bit gaudy myself.” But I could tell from the way she was staring that she was more impressed than she cared to admit.
“The Emerald City?” Uncle Henry asked. “I thought we were going to find your friend Glinda?”
“We’re going to meet with Ozma,” I said, trying to reassure them. “She’s the princess of Oz. She’ll help us find Glinda. Besides, don’t you want to see the magnificent Emerald City?”
The Scarecrow was extremely diplomatic about the whole thing. “You can’t come all the way to Oz and miss out on the Emerald City,” he said. When my aunt and uncle looked at him dubiously, he added: “The princess is a formidable magic user in her own right. If she can’t send you home herself, she will no doubt be eager to help you find the Sorceress.”
It took a little convincing, but eventually they gave in, and soon Uncle Henry was helping Aunt Em up into the carriage. At least we had a ride this time. I think after yesterday’s ordeals, we were all more than happy to be traveling in comfort.
The inside of the carriage was lined with plush velvet cushions, and the Scarecrow and I sat on one side with my aunt and uncle on the other. A tea service floated on a tray between us.
“Tea?” the Scarecrow asked Aunt Em, handing her a little pink cup.
She looked like she wanted to say no, but Aunt Em can never resist a good cup of tea.
“Do you have Earl Grey?” she asked.
“I have whatever you’d like,” he replied. He pointed at the kettle on the tray.
“How do I brew it?” she asked curiously.
“Just pour it and imagine the best cup of tea you can think of.”
Aunt Em looked dubious, but she gingerly poured herself a serving, and when she took a sip, her eyes lit up. “That’s Earl Grey, all right!” she said in delight. And then, curiously: “Did you cast a spell on it?”
The Scarecrow chortled. “A spell! I should think not. I’m a man of science. In fact, it’s the milk of the rare Chimera. While it remains inside the kettle, it exists in infinite liquid forms—it’s not until you pour it that it takes on the qualities you desire of it.”
“Does it serve up scotch,
too?” Uncle Henry joked.
“I don’t see why not,” the Scarecrow said.
Soon my uncle was contentedly tippling his favorite Glenlivet vintage and I had poured myself a cup of rich, dark hot chocolate, and then we were off. The carriage shot forward down the road like a bolt of lightning. The scenery was whipping past us in a green and gold blur, but we were perfectly comfortable inside our cozy little bubble. Every time we curved into a hairpin turn or went speeding down a hill, our vehicle would adjust itself so that we didn’t even shift in our seats.
“Henry Ford could take a lesson from whoever built this,” Uncle Henry marveled, gazing out the window.
Outside the carriage, forests, villages, and rivers all appeared and disappeared as quickly as they’d popped into sight while the Saw-Horse sped ahead, moving with such speed that his wooden feet didn’t even make a sound against the brick road.
“He really is fast,” I said to the Scarecrow.
“He is indeed. He claims to be the fastest horse in the land, and I don’t doubt him. He’s also Ozma’s closest confidant, you know. He’s been with her longer than anyone. He’s the one who brought her back to the city after her exile, and he’s been her most loyal servant ever since.”
It almost made me sorry for this Ozma, to think that her only friend was a wooden horse that looked more like a piece of scrap lumber than an animal. Even Miss Millicent had to make a better friend than a talking log jammed together with a few twigs.
When he was certain that Aunt Em and Uncle Henry weren’t paying attention, wrapped up as they were in their own conversation and in watching the scenery, the Scarecrow put his arm around me casually and leaned in close, whispering, “Be careful what you say in the Saw-Horse’s presence. Rest assured that anything you tell him will find its way to the princess’s ear.”
I nodded slowly, not sure what to make of any of it.
After a bit, the Saw-Horse began to slow his pace, and I saw that we had come to a wide river.
“Oh dear,” the Scarecrow said. “Isn’t this always the way. It’s the Wandering Water.”
“What’s that?” Aunt Em asked nervously.
“Just another of Munchkin Country’s many nuisances,” the Scarecrow explained with a wave of his stuffed hand.
“If it’s anything like the Forest of Fear, I’m turning back now,” Henry said firmly. “And Emily is coming with me.”
I didn’t speak up, but I had to agree that, after yesterday, we had all had more than our fill of Oz’s alliterative annoyances.
“Not to worry,” the Scarecrow said. “The Wandering Water isn’t unpleasant—just inconvenient. It’s a river with a mind of its own, you see. You can never tell where you’re going to find it. In a few hours it will have moved on to somewhere else entirely. Never fear, though, the road isn’t without its own personality. It will get us across with as little delay as possible.”
As we galloped toward the water, I saw what the Scarecrow meant. The river was actually moving, shifting and undulating, snaking its way across the landscape, paying no attention to the fact that it cut right through the middle of the road, leaving no way to cross.
But as we approached, the Road of Yellow Brick began reconfiguring itself, too. As if it sensed us coming, golden bricks began to float into the air, one by one, constructing themselves into a curving bridge that led high up into the sky where it took a meandering, curlicued route across the water.
The only problem was, it didn’t look very stable.
“We’re not going over that, are we?” Aunt Em asked, craning her neck out the window and turning a shade of pale green.
“Oh yes,” the Scarecrow said. “Not to worry, though. The Saw-Horse has never lost a passenger.”
Soon we were trotting upward into the clouds, the river hundreds of feet below us. The bridge of yellow bricks continued building itself as we made our way across it, fluttering in the breeze like a ribbon.
Aunt Em’s eyes were squeezed shut, and her knuckles were white, her hands clasped together in her lap. Uncle Henry gripped her arm tight, not looking much braver than she did.
Back in Kansas I’d never been much for heights myself, but now that I was in Oz, I discovered that I didn’t care. It was all part of the adventure. Why come to a place like this and then turn away the secret things it has to offer you?
So as we climbed higher and higher into the sky, I forced myself to keep my eyes open.
All of Oz was spread out below us like a patchwork quilt. When I squinted, I almost thought I could see the red towns of Quadling Country to the south and the yellow hills of Winkie territory to the west. The purple Gillikin mountain range stretched north as far as the eye could see. That is, until I saw the Emerald City glowing on the horizon, and I forgot everything else.
I would never forget that glittering skyline.
From high above the Wandering Water, the city appeared first as a green glimmer against the blue sky and then popped into focus, rippling like a mirage beyond a massive glass wall that rose over the trees. The curved rooftops of the skyline blended into each other in a series of sloping, gentle waves, all surrounded by a halo of light.
In the center of it all, the pointed spires of the palace rose straight up into the air, scraping the clouds. I wondered what it would be like to stand at the top of one of those towers and look out over all of Oz. I wondered how far you could see from up there; I wondered what it would be like to know that all this magic was yours. Did Ozma appreciate what she’d been given?
I hoped she did. If I had all that, I would never let myself lose sight of how lucky I was. Not for a moment.
Eleven
We all breathed sighs of relief as the flying road began to make its descent back to the riverbank, and before we knew it, we were on land again. After that, it was only a matter of minutes before we were approaching the majestic emerald walls of the city.
Everyone was silent as we pulled up to the gates, which were intricately carved with twisting vines, gilded and studded with jewels. I noticed with some curiosity, though, that the gates were solid all the way through, and there was no obvious place for them to swing open, or even a mechanism for them to rise up. How were we going to get through?
The Saw-Horse answered my question by thumping his hoof, three times, loudly against the ground. As he did it, the entranceway rippled, and it began to melt away until it was just a smooth puddle on the ground, leaving an opening where it had just stood.
“What happened to the Guardian of the Gates?” I asked. “That funny little man who used to hand out the glasses?”
“Ozma reassigned him,” the Scarecrow explained. “That was just one of the Wizard’s many idiosyncrasies. Now that he’s gone, people are allowed to see clearly again. The city’s green enough without the glasses anyway. Ozma installed quite a bit more emerald once she took over, and anyway, she doesn’t believe in guarding the gates at all.” He sniffed at what he obviously considered to be a preposterous flight of girlish fancy. “‘It’s everyone’s city,’ she says. ‘Why would I want to keep anyone out of it?’ The former guardian works as an optometrist now, and I’m told he’s quite happy. Most people in Oz have perfect vision, so he leads a very relaxed lifestyle.”
I looked over my shoulder as the Saw-Horse trotted us into the city, and as soon as we had cleared the opening in the wall, the gate sprung right back up and re-formed itself, closing behind us.
As we made our way through the city streets, I took in the sights. Little round houses were arranged in clusters around open plazas with burbling fountains and vibrant gardens where townspeople chattered amongst themselves. The smell of baking pies and fresh flowers filled my nose.
It was strange to be back in this city that I had so many memories of. It was both the same and different. For one thing, it really was green now, just like the Scarecrow said. From the funny little domed buildings whose roofs were reinforced with giant, smooth-polished emeralds the size of dinner plates to the tower
ing skyscrapers that somehow seemed to be formed entirely of huge, seamless jewels, every surface in sight managed to incorporate the city’s signature gemstone in one way or another. Even the yellow bricks of the road weren’t immune to the treatment: the road hadn’t ended at the gates, but instead continued on into the city, toward the palace, and each and every individual brick was inlaid with a single emerald at the center.
I think I liked them better when they were just plain yellow. Ironically, it was only now that the Guardian of the Gates was gone that I actually could have used some glasses—not to create the illusion of opulence but to shield my eyes from the glare.
At an open market, Munchkins and Winkies peddled produce and clothes and trinkets to laughing townspeople. There was a snake charmer, like in storybooks I’d read, and a sword swallower and a team of acrobats who flipped and twirled in the air as if they were propelled by an unseen force.
Everyone was smiling and laughing, milling around without a care in the world. A sense of liveliness permeated everything and everyone.
And yet I couldn’t help feeling uneasy.
It was all too happy. Nothing was this perfect, not even Oz.
My shoes sent a now-familiar pulse of energy up my legs, and as I looked back out at the bustling city, the cheerful scene suddenly seemed sinister: the smiles of the people turned to leers and the candy-bright colors took on a garish, desperate tint.
Glinda was gone, I reminded myself, off somewhere no one seemed to know about.
Something wasn’t right here.
Our carriage finally ground to a halt where the yellow brick opened up into a large, circular courtyard outside the palace entrance. Toto was the first out, followed by the Scarecrow. I clambered out after him, then helped Aunt Em and Uncle Henry down. The air was still and there was a lovely sound of water burbling in fountains. In the distance, I could hear singing.
The plaza was an explosion of azaleas that blossomed in a rainbow of colors: they were pink and purple and blue, but also striped and polka-dotted and paisley-patterned. A large marble fountain shot a waterfall of what looked like liquid diamonds high into the air.
No Place Like Oz Page 7
