Oz Reimagined: New Tales from the Emerald City and Beyond (3 page)

“I think you’re wrong,” Gigi said, trying desperately to follow.

“You haven’t been paying attention at all,” Oz snapped. “Have you never studied the mathematical approach to language known as
logic
?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Which is not the same as saying that you haven’t,” Oz replied. “But I digress. To return to the original—in fact, the essential—point that I was about to make: what’s not logical, what’s distinctly and preeminently
not right
about this country, as you have described it to me, is that there are four kingdoms.”

“No, that’s right,” Gigi said. “There are definitely four kingdoms.”

“There are four kingdoms,
but not one king
. Every kingdom in this land is ruled by a
woman
! Why, in the land I come from, there is a great city called Omaha, not much different than your fine metropolis, in which my father served as a city councilman for two score years, give or take an annum. In all that time, he did not once serve under or even with a woman. And yet here you are ruled by four of them. Glinda, Bastinda, Locasta, and…Canasta?”

He waved his hand in the air, as if it were a matter of no consequence to forget a witch’s name.

“Her name is—” Gigi started to say.

“Why, it’s poppycock!”

“No, it’s…what’s poppycock?”

“Poppycock? It’s a species of flower. You usually find it planted in gardens along with balderdash and humbug and ample beds of bunkum. Does she have an army?”

“The Witch?” Gigi said. “She has a few soldiers, I suppose. But mostly she has the Winged Monkeys.”

“Monkey business, is it?” Oz murmured to himself.

“And she’s very capable with magic.”

“I can do a bit of magic myself!”

Oz pushed up his sleeves to his elbows and showed Gigi his hands, palms up, then palms down. Then his right hand darted to Gigi’s ear, and when he pulled it back, a tiny silver-colored disc was pinched between his thumb and forefinger.

Gigi snatched the disc away and examined it.

On one side was a portrait of a severe-looking man with feathers tucked in the back of his hair. On the other side was a picture of a large, hairy beast with a larger, hairier hump. “What is this?” Gigi asked.

“This is what you call progress,” Oz said. “In the land where I come from, which is known as Nebraska, there were once great tribes of Indians and endless herds of buffalo. Then men like me came along, and we achieved progress, which we memorialize by stamping it on a nickel.”

“What happened to the Indians and the buffalos?”

“The same thing that is going to happen to your witches now that I’m here,” Oz said, snatching the coin away. “Progress!”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Gigi said.

“I believe it makes five of them.” Oz flipped the coin in the air with his thumb and caught it in his fist, which he held in front of Gigi’s nose. Then he opened one finger at a time to reveal an empty hand.

“Hrm,” Gigi said skeptically.

But Oz just wiggled his fingers and grinned. “Now
that’s
magic.”

“Yes,” Gigi said. “I’m certain that it is.”

He wasn’t certain at all, but he would help this Oz fellow anyway, just in case. There was no need to risk getting
progressed
.

T
HE
Q
UEEN OF THE
F
IELD
M
ICE

“Your Majesty, it is a pleasure of immeasurable proportions, a satisfaction both sublime and profound, an honor far beyond a man of my own humble origins, to make your most regal and diminutive acquaintance,” said the whiskered stranger who had come from the Emerald City with the Guardian of the Gates.

“Delighted to meet you, too, I’m sure,” the Queen said, glancing up at the Guardian of the Gates, who was deliberately avoiding her gaze. She brushed her whiskers with her paw, in case they held any crumbs. “Who did you say you were again?”

“I am Oscar Diggs, from the wide and narrow land known as Nebraska, which lies across the hills and over the rainbow, where I am a modest purveyor of marvels, an itinerant educator of the masses, and the possessor of great and powerful devices of extraordinary merit. But you may call me Oz.”

“Oh my,” said the Queen, who thought she could smell a cow patty before she stepped in it. “Well, how can I help you, Mr. Oz?”

“Your Majesty,” Oz said. “I’m not here to ask for your help like some beggar far from home. No, indeed! Rather I hope you will allow me to describe the manner in which
I
can help
you
.”

“
You
help
me
?”

“Your Majesty, this field that you occupy is part of a much bigger land—in fact, a kingdom! A kingdom is a structure of government that I trust you, as a fellow monarch, albeit of a more limited domain, approve of and even support. But right now this kingdom has no king, a situation that confounds sense and boggles the cerebrum. Instead you are ruled by a witch, a woman who, instead of a scepter, carries a broom. Do I need to paint a picture for you?”

“Oh, please,” said the Queen. “I love paintings.”

Oz began to stomp around in a circle. “A broom is the bane of every mouse. It’s cold outside, and there is no food, but—look!—over here is a cottage. A simple home. You peer inside the door, and what do you see? A fire on the hearth, providing warmth and safety. You see that there are crumbs upon the floor, so small they’ve been cast off by the giants who live here—but these tasty, savory crumbs will fill your belly and feed your numerous brood of starving children. Do you follow me so far?”

“I do,” said the Queen, but in a tone intended to indicate
not at all
.

But this Oscar person seemed pleased. He thrust his hands dramatically at her. “And then here comes the broom! It slams you against the wall. It pursues you into the corner. No matter where you turn, there waits the broom, relentless and unforgiving, until it has chased you back out into the cold, bruised and battered. Until it has swept up all the crumbs—food that could feed your loyal, hungry subjects—and tossed them into the flames where they can feed no one at all. And is this fair?”

“It’s horrifying,” said the Queen, her whiskers twitching.

“Exactly,” said Oz. “But here you are—you live in a kingdom ruled by a witch with a broom, and what will she do with that broom? She will chase you, and slap you, and
destroy the food supplies of your people, and leave you all with nowhere to turn and nowhere to live. Horrifying! But fortunately you have me.”

“We do?”

“You do! And Your Majesty,” Oz said, bowing low. “If you will just do as I ask, I can put an end to the Witch’s broom and guarantee peace and prosperity for the foreseeable future.”

The Queen looked at Gigi, who was twirling his toe in the grass and still avoiding eye contact. “I don’t know…”

Slam
! Oz stomped his boot on the ground, making her jump.

“That’s not me,” Oz said. “That’s what the Witch wants to do to you this very minute.”

“What can we do about it?” the Queen said, ready to agree with almost anything the stranger asked if he would just leave her alone.

“I have brought with me, from the land of Nebraska, an element called helium and several things called balloons…”

A C
LEAN
S
WEEP

It was hard for Bobbin, one of the smallest of the field mice, to predict which thing would be more terrifying that day.

Would it be getting tied to a string that was tied to a balloon that was then sent floating aloft to drift over the Witch’s castle?

Or maybe while he dangled hundreds of feet in the air, it would be climbing up the string and chewing a tiny hole in the balloon—a hole not so big that the balloon would
pop and drop him to his death, but just big enough to allow the balloon to descend slowly into the castle.

Or maybe it would be searching the castle, memorizing everything he saw, never knowing when the Witch’s Broom of Doom, as it was now being called among the field mice, would slam down on his tiny body.

As it turned out, the most terrifying thing was none of these.

They started on an observation platform that stood above the trees on a high hill overlooking the valley and the distant Witch’s castle. Socks were tied to poles at each corner of the platform. Wind filled them, indicating which direction it was blowing. Only when Oz was satisfied with the wind did he fill the first balloon and set it adrift. They watched it until it floated over the castle and away.

“We’ll call that test a success,” Oz said as he filled the second balloon from the metal tank. “Now’s for the real adventure. Are you ready, my lad?”

“Ready,” Bobbin squeaked. He wanted very much to be brave and do a good thing for his fellow mice.

“Your valor and fortitude are deserving of the highest recognition,” Oz said. And he tied the string around Bobbin’s waist and set him adrift over the forest.

Bobbin kept his eyes mostly closed and drifted over trees that looked at him with puzzled faces. Whispers ran through the leaves, branching out in every direction. Poor Bobbin began to twitch nervously. This was hardly the surreptitious entry that Oz had promised him.

The balloon was barely over the castle wall when other faces appeared in the windows and along the battlements—the Witch’s Winged Monkeys, furry little men with leathery wings and sparkling golden vests.

Then there were Monkeys on the roof of the castle.

Then there were Monkeys in the air above the castle.

Bobbin paddled his tiny legs furiously, like a swimmer desperate to make it to shore, even though his intention was only to turn around and climb up the string. The activity made him swing like a pendulum and soon he was all tangled up, which cut off his circulation and made his toes go numb.

The Monkeys flew up in waves, spinning round and round Bobbin’s balloon until it was twisting like a leaf in a whirlwind. The more daring Monkeys flew in and poked at the balloon, or—worse!—at Bobbin.

“No no no no no no no no no no no no no!” he screamed.

The Monkeys laughed and spun him round and round and batted his balloon until he was screaming at them to—

POP!

The balloon disappeared like a wasted wish, and he plummeted toward the rocks below. At the last second, as the rocks loomed large in his vision, a tiny hairy hand thrust out of nowhere and grabbed him.

The Monkey carried Bobbin high into the air, higher than his balloon had been, and then the Monkeys played a game of keep-away, tossing Bobbin back and forth, dropping and catching him over and over again until he was limp and exhausted with terror.

Eventually the Monkeys grew bored, and they took Bobbin to the castle, where he was presented to the Witch of the East.

“Who sent you to spy on my castle?” the Witch asked.

“Oz,” Bobbin said, and then, feeling like that wasn’t quite enough, like it might be a good idea to have a powerful protector, he added, “Oz, the great and powerful. He’s a wizard! He came from Nebraska, and he…he…has progress, which he keeps in his pocket.”

While he spoke, his eyes darted back and forth, looking for the terrible, the awful, the frightening Broom of Doom.

The Witch reached down and, with one long fingernail, scratched between Bobbin’s ears. Despite his wariness, Bobbin closed his eyes and sighed.

“Tell me everything you remember,” the Witch said.

So that’s what Bobbin did, even though when he got to the part about the Broom of Doom, she laughed so hard that tears fell from her eyes.

“That’s a good boy,” the Witch said when the laughter subsided and her breath returned. “Will you take a message to this wizard for me?”

“Y…y…yes,” Bobbin said.

“Tell him, if he’s smart, he’ll go back to Nebraska.”

“I can do that,” Bobbin said.

“I know you can,” the Witch said, giving him a big yellow-toothed smile. “Now…would you like to walk back to the Wizard’s base of operations, or would you like my Monkey friends to fly you there?”

“Walk! Walk! Walk!” Bobbin shouted.

He staggered like a drunk all the way back to the far end of the valley.