Yellow Brick War
Page 71
“I want it to stop!” I yelled, and a wave of power burst out of me like water crashing through a dam. Mombi, Gert, Glamora, and Nox were thrown backward across the clearing. My fingernails lengthened into claws, my arms rippled with muscle. “Leave me ALONE!” I roared through a mouthful of jagged teeth. And then I felt a gentle, cooling surge of magic from the boots. Reminding me of who I was. Not a monster. Not under Oz’s control. Just Amy Gumm, a girl trying to save her family. The monster’s talons retracted back into my fingers. I pushed myself upright from where I’d crouched on all fours as the witches picked themselves up and brushed themselves off. Nox looked stunned. Glamora looked thoughtful.
“Well, then,” she said. “I guess we’ll have to find a different way to free you from the shoes.”
Mombi was looking at me with an unmistakable expression of worry. I knew they thought I was dangerous. I didn’t blame them. But they wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Not yet anyway. I wished I could talk to Nox, but there was no safe way to do it.
“Fine,” I said. Let them think I’d given in. Let them think I was willing to give up the shoes as soon as they found a way to get them off my feet. I’d figure something out. I always did. “I’m going back to bed.” I didn’t look back at the witches when I left.
The next few days were a bustle of activity. When Ozma had insisted the coronation be held on the site of the Emerald Palace, I’d been pretty dubious. Why not start over somewhere that wasn’t a former battleground? The scarred wasteland looked worse than post-tornado Dusty Acres, and the city itself was in even more terrible shape. But the land had significance for her. And for Oz. And Ozma, with the help of the Wicked, went immediately into full cleanup mode. First, she deputized a handful of Lulu’s monkeys as messengers and sent them out to all the corners of Oz with the news that Dorothy had been defeated and the coronation was coming. Joyful citizens of Oz came pouring into the city, eager to help rebuild. At all hours of the day and night the streets were full of Munchkins, Winkies, Pixies, and talking animals industriously carting wheelbarrows of debris back and forth, carefully repaving the streets with salvaged gemstones, and repairing the buildings that were still standing. Ozma and the Wicked—Nox included—devoted their energy to constructing an elaborate tent city where the palace had stood and carefully coaxing the ruined gardens back to life. The monkeys busied themselves in the remaining trees, hanging streamers and lights and an elaborate network of bridges and platforms, with Lulu barking orders from the ground like a drill sergeant.
I helped where I could, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It had all happened so suddenly that Dorothy’s defeat hadn’t really sunk in, but everyone else in Oz seemed to think it was totally normal that a tyrant had been defeated, the old queen had been reinstated, and the Emerald Palace had been completely destroyed.
The morning of the coronation was as sunny and clear as every other day had been since Dorothy’s defeat. Ozma herself was directing the final touches: a small army of Munchkins was busy cooking an enormous feast. Pixies fluttered about from tree to tree, hanging streamers and long strands of glass balls that must have been some kind of decoration. Mombi, Gert, Glamora, and Nox were busy putting the last details on the newly planted, magic-enhanced gardens. They were still a far cry from the splendor that had once surrounded the Emerald Palace, but they were a lot better than the wasteland they replaced.
Dorothy’s surviving ex-soldiers had shown up for the party, too. At first I was startled to see the mangled, mechanized figures as they wheeled and creaked around, and the other Ozians gave them a wide berth, too. But they made themselves indispensable, helping with heavy lifting and the most unglamorous tasks, like doing dishes and cleaning up. They, at least, had been through even worse than me. I remembered the Scarecrow’s laboratory, and shuddered.
Finally, it was time to get ready. Ozma had set up a bathing tent that was as luxurious as a fancy spa. Big, claw-foot bathtubs were curtained off with walls of pale, billowing silk. As soon as I entered one of the rooms, invisible hands turned on the taps, and the tub filled with steaming, scented water as a pile of thick towels materialized next to me. I’d no sooner taken off my clothes and climbed into the tub than the same invisible presence began to briskly lather my scalp with a floral shampoo. “No thanks,” I told it. “I think I’d rather do it myself.” I thought I heard a sulky little sigh, but the hands withdrew, and I knew I was alone.
I stayed in the bathtub for a long time, magic boots and all (turns out they were waterproof), dreading the night ahead. I’d never been much for parties, and big banquets still reminded me of those awful days when I’d pretended to be one of Dorothy’s maids. I remembered what she’d done to Jellia, and a chill ran through me despite the hot bathwater. I was going to have to get a grip if I wanted to make it through the night, but I couldn’t let go of all the pain and suffering I’d seen. Maybe people in Oz were more used to it and that was why they could get over it so quickly, but before I’d come here Madison Pendleton had been about the worst thing I’d experienced. Well, that and my mom’s addiction. I splashed my face angrily with hot water and stood up, sloshing bathwater over the sides of the tub. A towel floated into the air and wrapped itself around me. “Oh, fine,” I sighed, stepping out of the tub. If it was possible for an invisible handmaid to towel me off smugly, mine did. <
“Well, then,” she said. “I guess we’ll have to find a different way to free you from the shoes.”
Mombi was looking at me with an unmistakable expression of worry. I knew they thought I was dangerous. I didn’t blame them. But they wouldn’t do anything to hurt me. Not yet anyway. I wished I could talk to Nox, but there was no safe way to do it.
“Fine,” I said. Let them think I’d given in. Let them think I was willing to give up the shoes as soon as they found a way to get them off my feet. I’d figure something out. I always did. “I’m going back to bed.” I didn’t look back at the witches when I left.
The next few days were a bustle of activity. When Ozma had insisted the coronation be held on the site of the Emerald Palace, I’d been pretty dubious. Why not start over somewhere that wasn’t a former battleground? The scarred wasteland looked worse than post-tornado Dusty Acres, and the city itself was in even more terrible shape. But the land had significance for her. And for Oz. And Ozma, with the help of the Wicked, went immediately into full cleanup mode. First, she deputized a handful of Lulu’s monkeys as messengers and sent them out to all the corners of Oz with the news that Dorothy had been defeated and the coronation was coming. Joyful citizens of Oz came pouring into the city, eager to help rebuild. At all hours of the day and night the streets were full of Munchkins, Winkies, Pixies, and talking animals industriously carting wheelbarrows of debris back and forth, carefully repaving the streets with salvaged gemstones, and repairing the buildings that were still standing. Ozma and the Wicked—Nox included—devoted their energy to constructing an elaborate tent city where the palace had stood and carefully coaxing the ruined gardens back to life. The monkeys busied themselves in the remaining trees, hanging streamers and lights and an elaborate network of bridges and platforms, with Lulu barking orders from the ground like a drill sergeant.
I helped where I could, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. It had all happened so suddenly that Dorothy’s defeat hadn’t really sunk in, but everyone else in Oz seemed to think it was totally normal that a tyrant had been defeated, the old queen had been reinstated, and the Emerald Palace had been completely destroyed.
The morning of the coronation was as sunny and clear as every other day had been since Dorothy’s defeat. Ozma herself was directing the final touches: a small army of Munchkins was busy cooking an enormous feast. Pixies fluttered about from tree to tree, hanging streamers and long strands of glass balls that must have been some kind of decoration. Mombi, Gert, Glamora, and Nox were busy putting the last details on the newly planted, magic-enhanced gardens. They were still a far cry from the splendor that had once surrounded the Emerald Palace, but they were a lot better than the wasteland they replaced.
Dorothy’s surviving ex-soldiers had shown up for the party, too. At first I was startled to see the mangled, mechanized figures as they wheeled and creaked around, and the other Ozians gave them a wide berth, too. But they made themselves indispensable, helping with heavy lifting and the most unglamorous tasks, like doing dishes and cleaning up. They, at least, had been through even worse than me. I remembered the Scarecrow’s laboratory, and shuddered.
Finally, it was time to get ready. Ozma had set up a bathing tent that was as luxurious as a fancy spa. Big, claw-foot bathtubs were curtained off with walls of pale, billowing silk. As soon as I entered one of the rooms, invisible hands turned on the taps, and the tub filled with steaming, scented water as a pile of thick towels materialized next to me. I’d no sooner taken off my clothes and climbed into the tub than the same invisible presence began to briskly lather my scalp with a floral shampoo. “No thanks,” I told it. “I think I’d rather do it myself.” I thought I heard a sulky little sigh, but the hands withdrew, and I knew I was alone.
I stayed in the bathtub for a long time, magic boots and all (turns out they were waterproof), dreading the night ahead. I’d never been much for parties, and big banquets still reminded me of those awful days when I’d pretended to be one of Dorothy’s maids. I remembered what she’d done to Jellia, and a chill ran through me despite the hot bathwater. I was going to have to get a grip if I wanted to make it through the night, but I couldn’t let go of all the pain and suffering I’d seen. Maybe people in Oz were more used to it and that was why they could get over it so quickly, but before I’d come here Madison Pendleton had been about the worst thing I’d experienced. Well, that and my mom’s addiction. I splashed my face angrily with hot water and stood up, sloshing bathwater over the sides of the tub. A towel floated into the air and wrapped itself around me. “Oh, fine,” I sighed, stepping out of the tub. If it was possible for an invisible handmaid to towel me off smugly, mine did. <
