Page 103 of Out of Oz (The Wicked Years 4)

“What are you cawing about?” asked Dame Fegg. “You haven’t answered the first question posed by the magistrate.”

“I have no designs in Oz,” said the girl. “Uncle Henry and Aunt Em and I had gone to San Francisco, see, for various family reasons. My mental fitness for marriage among them, to be blunt. We ate funny food and saw sights till we felt like gagging. And then, one morning, oh my word! I took a trip to the roof of my hotel and the whole building began to shake and buckle, and I could hear stones falling and people screaming. For a moment the elevator stopped and everything became dark, and I could detect a bad smell, though maybe that was Toto. My dog. Then the elevator began to move again, sliding faster and faster, and I thought I would smash to my death at the bottom of the chute! It was much the scariest thing that ever happened to me since the twister. The noise grew louder, the air grew thick with powder; a moment later, while in the elevator, I lost my mind for my dog had got away…”

Brrr had to concede it. She was dotty as ever, but blistering buckets, how people listened to her. They were nearly swaying in time with her rhetoric.

“The earth began to quake, for goodness’ sake; I knew I’d made a big mistake when the cage began to shake…”

“A little restraint in the theatrics,” said the magistrate.

“When I came to,” she continued, less sonorously, “I found myself in the elevator cage half buried in a landslide. When people dug me out I assumed they would be San Franciscans. But just my luck. Imagine: a tribe of little people! Again! At first I thought I’d discovered yet another tiresome country, but eventually someone called Sakkali Oafish told me I was in Oz. So you see, your honor, I had no designs at all, except to have a nice holiday and maybe buy some lace for my hope chest, in the off chance any fellow ever gets interested in me.” She looked with big eyes across the room again. “I don’t think my prospects for a husband are terribly strong, not at this particular point in time.”

“First things first,” said Lord Nipp. “Dorothy Gale, you are charged with crimes against Munchkinland. Crimes of the most grievous sort because they conflate aggression against the state with assault against individuals. You are charged with the murder of Nessarose Thropp, the onetime Eminent Thropp and de facto governor of Munchkinland. Also with the murder of her sister, Elphaba Thropp of Kiamo Ko, though originally of Munchkinland.”

“Well, that’s a pretty big plate of sauerkraut, if you ask me,” said Dorothy. “I never murdered a soul. Do you think I was navigating that house from Kansas, back in the day?”

“It is my first duty to make sure you understand the seriousness of the charges brought against you. If convicted, you could be put to death.”

The girl opened her eyes wider than usual. “Everyone in Oz is far too nice to do a nasty thing like that to an accidental immigrant.”

“I must ask you to restrict your remarks to answering the questions. I don’t know what experience of legal proceedings you might have gained in your tenure in Kanziz—quite a bit, I would suspect, as you seem to career about wreaking mayhem—but here in Oz we maintain a certain decorum in court. This goes for those unwrapping sandwiches in the gallery. If you must arrive with lunch, make sure it is wrapped in cloth so it doesn’t make so much noise when you bring it out!”

“I understand the charges,” said Dorothy, “but I’m sure when I explain the circumstances you’ll see that this is all a dreadful misunderstanding. And certainly there will be witnesses to testify in my defense? You’ve arranged for character witnesses, at the least? I did have some friends here, once upon a time.”

“We’ve had to pull this trial together rather quickly.”

“Then perhaps we should postpone this little charade until we’ve all gotten ourselves prepared adequately.” Dorothy could still say the most inappropriate things and get away with them, thought Brrr.

“The job is put to us by the Eminent Mombey. These are desperate times for Munchkinland. We will perform our duties as best we can under the circumstances.”

“Are you saying there’s no one here who remembers me?” Doro

thy turned and looked out at the crowd again, shading her eyes against the sloping sunlight. “Can you call for a show of hands, Lord Nipp?”

“You don’t get to decide how we proceed. You’re the accused.”

“I should like to request that Dorothy’s idea be acted upon,” ventured Temper Bailey. “Before we proceed, may we see if anyone present has direct knowledge of the Matter of Dorothy?”

“Very well,” said the magistrate. “If among us there is anyone who has ever laid eyes on this Dorothy Gale before today, you are ordered to rise.”

This was why they had come to Munchkinland, after all. His heart not quite in his throat—somewhere south of the esophagus, it felt—the Lion stood up. A murmur of Munchkinlanders caused Dorothy to turn toward his side of the chamber.

“Oh, I don’t believe it!” she cried. “I knew someone would come. I had hoped it would be the Scarecrow, but even so.”

“Approach the bench,” said Nipp.

Brrr did, trying not to sashay. It was still sometimes a problem in public. “I am Brrr. I come with several other names. Popularly known as the Cowardly Lion in some circles, I’m afraid, but there’s nothing I can do about that. When in Gillikin I’m sometimes addressed as Sir Brrr, Namory of Traum.”

“That’s Loyal Oz,” said Nipp. “Cuts no mustard here, Lion.”

“I was elevated by Lady Glinda when she was Throne Minister,” said the Lion. “I don’t require the honorific. I’m just trying to be sure you don’t accuse me of concealing pertinent facts. I’m probably wanted for sedition by the Emerald City for having jumped bail after a spot of legal trouble on that side of the border.”

“We have no extradition treaties, so you’re safe here as far as that goes,” said Nipp. “Not that you deserve to be harbored, necessarily.”

The Lion turned to Dorothy. They were only six feet apart now. She was too mature to throw her arms around him. Indeed, she looked a little frightened. “Up until now I had hoped this might all be a dream,” she said. “But you are just like yourself, and yet different than you were. Put on a little weight? I think you have.”

“You’re a sight for sore eyes yourself,” he told her.

“Save your chatter for after hours,” advised the magistrate. “Anyone else?”

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