Oz Reimagined: New Tales from the Emerald City and Beyond (27 page)

The young man was supported on his left side by a young Chinese girl—likely his maid, judging by her prim dress and the timid way she behaved—and on his right side by a middle-aged Chinese man—likely his driver or manservant, who looked terrified at the sight of the uniforms of the Municipal Police.

The police captain was very proud of his sharp observation and deduction skills. He straightened up and puffed out his chest. He liked feeling powerful in front of others.

But behind the boy: What was this? An automaton bodyguard! Its surface was polished to shine brightly, and it looked to be as strong as ten men. Someone who could afford such a machine was bound to be important.

The police captain had been told to watch for a ragtag band of Chinese vagrants up to no good, but surely headquarters didn’t mean these people.

“It’s all right, sir,” said the police captain. “Just be careful. A lot of hooligans out at night. Do you live far from here?”

“No, not at all. Just a few—a few more steps, er, locks, er, blocks.”

The officers stepped aside respectfully as the Lion, the Tin Woodman, and Dorothy half-carried Scarecrow across the checkpoint and disappeared around the next turn.

“I put on a pretty good show, don’t I?” said Scarecrow, and everyone laughed.

The Wicked Warlord saw how the companions evaded capture, and he grew angrier.

“Useless,” he cursed under his breath. “I have to do everything myself.”

Now that Dorothy and her companions were outside Shanghai, they rode on the back of the Tin Woodman as he marched with giant steps through the fields and country roads, heading toward Peking. Dorothy felt as though she were riding a train.

On the second day of their journey, the Wicked Warlord sent a team of soldiers with steam-powered bicycles to come after them. These were among his best-trained men, known as the Wolf Brigade.

As the rumbling wheels surrounded the companions, Dorothy became very frightened. The riders wore thick armor and helmets painted with sharp teeth dripping with blood. They really did seem like a pack of wolves.

“Don’t worry,” said the Tin Woodman. “I’ll take care of this.”

He asked Dorothy and the others to hide behind a bale of hay while he took his axe off his belt and strode toward the soldiers on bicycles.

“Stop!” the captain of the Wolf Brigade shouted, but the Tin Woodman did not stop.

They began to shoot at him, but the bullets bounced off the metal carapace harmlessly like bees trying to sting an oak tree. The Tin Woodman strode purposefully around, and with each swing of his mighty axe, split apart a bicycle. He was careful not to harm any of the men, for he did not want to hurt anyone, just the way he imagined someone with a real heart would not.

The soldiers, having seen how their iron mounts were so easily destroyed by the Tin Woodman, shouted and scattered, terrified of this mechanical menace. Some dropped their armor and helmets as they ran.

The Tin Woodman tied the axe back on his belt and squatted down. “Get on,” he said to his friends. “We still have a long way to go.”

There was nothing to do now but for the Wicked Warlord to send out his army against the companions. They caught Dorothy and the others on the third day of their journey. These were not bad men, just boys forced to fight for the Wicked Warlord because they had no other way to feed themselves.

“Let me deal with them,” said the Lion. And Dorothy and the others stepped back.

“I know you’re afraid,” said the Lion. His voice was somber and resonant; it carried very far in the empty fields. “I am afraid too.

“But this young woman taught me that just because you’re afraid doesn’t mean that you can’t do the right thing. We’re here to fight for you! You should be taking up arms against those who have invaded this country, as we Boxers
once did, not against your own brothers and sisters. For that is the true old magic of this country: four hundred million hearts beating as one.”

And the soldiers looked at the Lion and at each other, and none made a move against him or his friends.

The companions passed the soldiers and went on toward Peking.

Finally, the Wicked Warlord summoned his Secret Police, the elite fighting men known as the Winged Monkeys. These were men who could walk on walls and leap onto roofs in a single bound. They were as practiced in the art of fighting as they were in the art of blending into shadows.

Wordlessly they snuck up behind the Tin Woodman and disabled him by shocking him with an electric prod. They threw a net over the Lion, who fought but could not break the silken threads. They held Scarecrow down and cuffed his thin arms. Finally, they arrested Dorothy and took her to see the Wicked Warlord.

Dorothy faced the Wicked Warlord, a bald and rotund man with a face full of glee and cruelty. He wore a military uniform decorated with so many medals and ribbons that he looked a bit like a gaudy Christmas tree.

Dorothy recognized him from his portrait on all the
dayang
. She was afraid at first, but then she remembered that she was standing on two coins in her shoes, and so she was, in a way, standing on
him
. She calmed down.

“You young people,” the Wicked Warlord said,
tsk-tsk
ing, “always think you know everything. You do not know how the world works.”

“I know that you should free the students you’ve imprisoned,” said Dorothy. “You should give the Republic back to the people.”

“And why is that? The people would not know what to do with themselves without someone like me in charge. I think I’m happy just the way things are.”

Dorothy thought back to the girls standing on street corners singing patriotic songs, to the students fearlessly marching through the streets, to the workers standing and listening to speeches while they lost their wages. She thought about the Tin Woodman’s bravery, Scarecrow’s compassion, the Lion’s wisdom.

“You can’t win,” said Dorothy. “There are many of us, and only one of you.”

And she turned around and picked up the pot of tea on the table and threw it at the Wicked Warlord.

She had meant only to humiliate him, but to her surprise, as the hot water drenched the Wicked Warlord, the Wicked Warlord screamed.

“What have you done?”

And color began to drain from him—literally. The green of his uniform, the gold in his medals, the flushed red cheeks—the colors ran down his body in streaks, leaving behind blurry lines.

The Wicked Warlord was made of paper, and he was falling apart like an ink-brush painting in the rain.

And as the water pooled around his feet, the Palace began to melt, too.

The Wicked Warlord’s power had always been but a mirage and only as strong as the paper tigers and dragons that children played with at the Lantern Festival.

Soon the Wicked Warlord and the Palace were gone, leaving Dorothy in the middle of a square with a lot of other dazed-looking people, prisoners who were now free.

The celebration in Tiananmen Square was like nothing Dorothy had ever seen. So many firecrackers! So much dancing and singing!

Now that the Wicked Warlord was no more, the Winged Monkeys were quick to shift their stance. They brought back the Lion, the Tin Woodman, and Scarecrow, and their reunion with Dorothy added even more joy.

And who should arrive in the middle of the celebration? It was the Great Oz, carried here on the shoulders of the Wolf Brigade—whose legs pumped hard at their bicycles—and the soldiers who had deserted the Wicked Warlord of the West.

“Thank you,” said the Great Oz. “You have proven to me that faith does matter, that as long as the young people are willing to go to prison for what they believe is right, this country will always have hope.”

“And now, can I go home?” asked Dorothy.

“And now, can I have some brains?” asked Scarecrow.

“And now, can I have a heart?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“And now, can I have courage?” asked the Lion.

The Great Oz smiled and spoke to each of them.

Dorothy was very sleepy and tired by the time the train pulled into Shanghai North Railway Station.

She yawned as she got off the train.

She wondered if the Tin Woodman liked his new job.