Dorothy Must Die
Page 69
Today I’d mastered the routine and gotten used to my new body. Tomorrow, I’d work on getting closer.
The next day was more of the same. Cleaning my way through the palace alongside Hannah and the other maids, I started to put together an idea of Dorothy’s day. I didn’t get to see her or actually wait on her—it was more her absence that painted a picture. The bitch cast a long shadow.
First, I observed the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, the cooks preparing Dorothy’s breakfast. We’re talking a thorough inspection of bacon here, because Dorothy apparently doesn’t like it too crispy. That bacon then went upstairs on a tray, presumably to undergo a thorough inspection by Jellia before being allowed to be delivered bedside by a shaky maid.
The first room on our cleaning circuit, as outlined in Jellia’s thorough flow chart, was Dorothy’s solarium. It was her preferred location for midday tea with the ladies. I was partnered with Sindra, which meant I did most of the cleaning while Sindra gazed longingly at all of Dorothy’s gaudy decorations. After the solarium, our next stop was the nearby bathroom, where Sindra and I came upon a well-to-do woman in an elegant sundress, staring into the mirror like she was trying to psych herself up before skydiving. This was one of Dorothy’s ladies. She pretended not to notice us.
“That’s Lady Aurellium,” Sindra gossiped on our way out. “Her husband used to be the Master of Coin.”
“I didn’t even recognize her,” I said, then took a chance. “Horrible what happened to Lord Aurellium.”
Sindra snorted. “Well, he shouldn’t have told Dorothy what she couldn’t spend the palace reserves on.”
I didn’t press her further, but it sure sounded to me like something dark had befallen Lord Aurellium. And now here was his wife, a playdate for Dorothy. So she spent her days entertaining the important people of Oz she hadn’t yet executed or driven into hiding.
Around teatime, we almost crossed Dorothy’s path. It was impossible not to hear her coming. Her red high heels clicked unnaturally loudly through the halls, as if amplified by magic. Not to mention she brought with her the heavy footfalls of her bodyguards and the tittering of her entourage, a group of gaudily dressed Dorothy-appointed beauty experts and jesters, all of them constantly jabbering about how wonderful she was. I wanted to get a look at my target, but Hannah yanked me away.
Dorothy was never alone, I realized. It was unclear whether that was a tactical decision—or maybe even she couldn’t stand to be alone with herself.
After teatime, Dorothy either took a nap or met with her council of advisers, or possibly both. Either way, we weren’t allowed on the upper floors during that time, lest we disturb Her Greatness.
There was no way the maids didn’t see how screwed up everything was. But they went cheerfully along. Or, at least, they pretended to. Never for a moment did they doubt Dorothy’s magnificence and kindness and perfection.
It was like they were brainwashed. Either that or scared out of their minds.
Later that day, a whistling Jellia and I were sweeping dirt from the narrow hallway that ran between the palace and the Royal Gardens when the unmistakable clanking of metal parts came echoing in our direction. The unspoken rule among the maids was to stay out of sight of Dorothy and her advisers—particularly the metallic Grand Inquisitor and his Tin Soldiers—except that wasn’t an option now. There weren’t any doors or exits in our little hall; either we ran back toward the palace in the direction of the incoming metal man, or we ducked into the Royal Gardens where servants were strictly forbidden.
Jellia’s giddy facade melted under a fresh burst of panic. She froze, clutching her broom and staring down the hall. I grabbed her and pulled her over to the side of the hallway, our backs tight against the wall. She was shaking.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“But—but what if she didn’t like the song I was whistling?” Jellia stammered.
Before I could answer, the Tin Woodman rounded the corner. The last time I’d seen him had been in battle and for a moment I tensed up, half expecting him to come at me. But he didn’t so much as glance in our direction. He didn’t recognize me—couldn’t recognize me. I tasted blood and realized I’d been biting the inside of my cheek.
“Please, please don’t, it was just an accident!”
The Tin Woodman was dragging a young man along by the elbow. He wore the emerald-plated armor of the palace guards. He thrashed against the Tin Woodman’s unforgiving grip to no avail. From around the young guard’s neck hung a cardboard sign that said Crime: Wandering Eye.
“I didn’t mean to look at her!” the guard pleaded.
“Silence,” came the Tin Woodman’s icy reply.
As they went by, I made the mistake of meeting the young guard’s eyes. I should’ve kept my gaze downcast and subservient like Jellia. Desperate, the guard tried to lunge in my direction.
“Please!” he screamed. “Help me! This isn’t right!”
I could’ve done something. Cast a fireball spell. Summoned my knife and saved that guard. I wanted to save him because I couldn’t stand to see that fear in his eyes. But then the Order’s whole plan would’ve been blown. Disgusted with both myself and the situation, I looked away.
The Tin Woodman shoved the guard onward, out into the Royal Gardens. He didn’t bother closing the door all the way. After a moment, I crept over to peek outside.
The next day was more of the same. Cleaning my way through the palace alongside Hannah and the other maids, I started to put together an idea of Dorothy’s day. I didn’t get to see her or actually wait on her—it was more her absence that painted a picture. The bitch cast a long shadow.
First, I observed the hustle and bustle in the kitchen, the cooks preparing Dorothy’s breakfast. We’re talking a thorough inspection of bacon here, because Dorothy apparently doesn’t like it too crispy. That bacon then went upstairs on a tray, presumably to undergo a thorough inspection by Jellia before being allowed to be delivered bedside by a shaky maid.
The first room on our cleaning circuit, as outlined in Jellia’s thorough flow chart, was Dorothy’s solarium. It was her preferred location for midday tea with the ladies. I was partnered with Sindra, which meant I did most of the cleaning while Sindra gazed longingly at all of Dorothy’s gaudy decorations. After the solarium, our next stop was the nearby bathroom, where Sindra and I came upon a well-to-do woman in an elegant sundress, staring into the mirror like she was trying to psych herself up before skydiving. This was one of Dorothy’s ladies. She pretended not to notice us.
“That’s Lady Aurellium,” Sindra gossiped on our way out. “Her husband used to be the Master of Coin.”
“I didn’t even recognize her,” I said, then took a chance. “Horrible what happened to Lord Aurellium.”
Sindra snorted. “Well, he shouldn’t have told Dorothy what she couldn’t spend the palace reserves on.”
I didn’t press her further, but it sure sounded to me like something dark had befallen Lord Aurellium. And now here was his wife, a playdate for Dorothy. So she spent her days entertaining the important people of Oz she hadn’t yet executed or driven into hiding.
Around teatime, we almost crossed Dorothy’s path. It was impossible not to hear her coming. Her red high heels clicked unnaturally loudly through the halls, as if amplified by magic. Not to mention she brought with her the heavy footfalls of her bodyguards and the tittering of her entourage, a group of gaudily dressed Dorothy-appointed beauty experts and jesters, all of them constantly jabbering about how wonderful she was. I wanted to get a look at my target, but Hannah yanked me away.
Dorothy was never alone, I realized. It was unclear whether that was a tactical decision—or maybe even she couldn’t stand to be alone with herself.
After teatime, Dorothy either took a nap or met with her council of advisers, or possibly both. Either way, we weren’t allowed on the upper floors during that time, lest we disturb Her Greatness.
There was no way the maids didn’t see how screwed up everything was. But they went cheerfully along. Or, at least, they pretended to. Never for a moment did they doubt Dorothy’s magnificence and kindness and perfection.
It was like they were brainwashed. Either that or scared out of their minds.
Later that day, a whistling Jellia and I were sweeping dirt from the narrow hallway that ran between the palace and the Royal Gardens when the unmistakable clanking of metal parts came echoing in our direction. The unspoken rule among the maids was to stay out of sight of Dorothy and her advisers—particularly the metallic Grand Inquisitor and his Tin Soldiers—except that wasn’t an option now. There weren’t any doors or exits in our little hall; either we ran back toward the palace in the direction of the incoming metal man, or we ducked into the Royal Gardens where servants were strictly forbidden.
Jellia’s giddy facade melted under a fresh burst of panic. She froze, clutching her broom and staring down the hall. I grabbed her and pulled her over to the side of the hallway, our backs tight against the wall. She was shaking.
“It’s okay,” I told her. “We haven’t done anything wrong.”
“But—but what if she didn’t like the song I was whistling?” Jellia stammered.
Before I could answer, the Tin Woodman rounded the corner. The last time I’d seen him had been in battle and for a moment I tensed up, half expecting him to come at me. But he didn’t so much as glance in our direction. He didn’t recognize me—couldn’t recognize me. I tasted blood and realized I’d been biting the inside of my cheek.
“Please, please don’t, it was just an accident!”
The Tin Woodman was dragging a young man along by the elbow. He wore the emerald-plated armor of the palace guards. He thrashed against the Tin Woodman’s unforgiving grip to no avail. From around the young guard’s neck hung a cardboard sign that said Crime: Wandering Eye.
“I didn’t mean to look at her!” the guard pleaded.
“Silence,” came the Tin Woodman’s icy reply.
As they went by, I made the mistake of meeting the young guard’s eyes. I should’ve kept my gaze downcast and subservient like Jellia. Desperate, the guard tried to lunge in my direction.
“Please!” he screamed. “Help me! This isn’t right!”
I could’ve done something. Cast a fireball spell. Summoned my knife and saved that guard. I wanted to save him because I couldn’t stand to see that fear in his eyes. But then the Order’s whole plan would’ve been blown. Disgusted with both myself and the situation, I looked away.
The Tin Woodman shoved the guard onward, out into the Royal Gardens. He didn’t bother closing the door all the way. After a moment, I crept over to peek outside.
