Dorothy Must Die
Page 108
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“I assure you that everything will be answered in time,” the Wizard said. “You’ve escaped for now, but Glinda is surely looking for you at this very moment. You may need to fight again before the night is through.”
“Good,” I replied, ignoring the ache from my abdomen and actually feeling a rush of energy. “I’m ready now. Send me back to Dorothy and let’s finish this.”
The Wizard shook his head emphatically. “The consequences of that would be disastrous,” he said. “Dorothy cannot be killed yet. Not even by you.”
I stared at him, remembering what Nox had said about him being a manipulator. Dorothy had seemed pretty scared when I was about to stab her, and even more so when I’d tackled her off the roof—not at all like some magical immortal.
“Okay, sure,” I replied. “I’d still like to try it.”
The Wizard guffawed, a twinkle in his eye. “I love the enthusiasm, but you still don’t understand how Oz works. I wouldn’t have expected the Order to teach you everything, but . . . surely they know that you’re out of your league against Dorothy.”
I folded my arms across my chest.
“Out of my league? They told me I was the only one who could kill her.”
“That may be true,” he said. “And, it may not. It’s just a theory, and, after all, Mombi and her friends have been wrong before. But let’s just say the witches’ theory is correct. Just for the sake of argument. Do you suppose that Dorothy doesn’t know about it? Do you suppose she hasn’t gone to great lengths to protect herself?”
“Of course she has,” I said. “That’s why I had to spend all this time pretending to be a maid—so that I could get to her when she was weak.”
“Her Highness has wrapped herself in intricate layers of protection, it’s true. And with the Order’s help, you’ve already managed to breach many of those walls. But the princess is not the only player in this game. She may not even be the most important player. There are things protecting Dorothy that she herself doesn’t even know about. Just as you don’t.”
“She doesn’t know about them. I don’t know about them. The Order doesn’t know about them. And you do?”
“Oh, Amy. I’ve learned a bit of magic, here and there, since I returned to Oz, but let’s face it—I’ll always be a bit of a humbug when it comes to that sort of thing. My real wizardry has nothing to do with spells at all. It has to do with knowledge. I knew about you the moment you arrived here, didn’t I? Even the most unbreakable of spells are meant to be broken. You just need to know a thing or two. It’s the knowing things part that just so happens to be my specialty.”
This was getting very annoying. “Look. You obviously want to tell me something,” I said, checking my imaginary wristwatch. “So just stop screwing around and let’s hear it.” I looked around nervously, knowing Glinda could come magicking around the corner at any second.
The Wizard sighed theatrically and rolled his head back and forth like he was really struggling to make up his mind.
“Killing Dorothy can only be done by a certain kind of person, and some people think that person is you. But what the Order seems to have missed is that it can only be done a certain way. Certain . . . tools are necessary. Certain items to which the princess has a special connection. You may have ascertained that several of Dorothy’s loyal companions are not quite what they used to be. Am I correct?”
“How should I know what anything used to be?” I asked. “I’m new here, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Well, I hear there’s a book,” he said with a wry laugh. “Haven’t you read it? I’m talking, of course, about the Scarecrow. The Tin Woodman. The Lion. Why do you suppose they’re so different from the heroes you expected to meet?”
“Because of Dorothy,” I said. “She changed them somehow.”
“That would be the obvious answer. Maybe even the right one. But is anything ever that obvious? Haven’t you learned by now that the real story is not always the whole story? Dorothy’s friends didn’t just change because they were her friends. They changed because of the things that they value most. Or . . . the things they value most have been changed.”
“The Scarecrow’s brains,” I said, thinking out loud.
The Wizard twirled an index finger in the air.
“The Tin Man’s heart . . .”
“I think she’s getting it,” he said.
“And the Lion’s courage,” I finished.
“Retrieve them and you’ll be three steps closer to accomplishing your mission.”
I shook my head. It didn’t quite add up.
“You’re the one who gave them those things. And you didn’t even know magic. You were just messing with them. Giving them what they were asking for, whether it worked or not.”
“Very true,” he said. “Funny how even they never seemed to figure that out. You must admit, though, that my gifts did have a certain effect. Would you disagree?”
“How can I when I don’t know what you’re talking about? The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t trust you. At all.”
“As well you shouldn’t,” the Wizard said. “You shouldn’t trust anyone. Yes, I could be lying to you. On the other hand, where’s the risk in ripping out the Tin Woodman’s heart? Just to see what happens. If you don’t, he’ll probably kill you anyway.”
“Good,” I replied, ignoring the ache from my abdomen and actually feeling a rush of energy. “I’m ready now. Send me back to Dorothy and let’s finish this.”
The Wizard shook his head emphatically. “The consequences of that would be disastrous,” he said. “Dorothy cannot be killed yet. Not even by you.”
I stared at him, remembering what Nox had said about him being a manipulator. Dorothy had seemed pretty scared when I was about to stab her, and even more so when I’d tackled her off the roof—not at all like some magical immortal.
“Okay, sure,” I replied. “I’d still like to try it.”
The Wizard guffawed, a twinkle in his eye. “I love the enthusiasm, but you still don’t understand how Oz works. I wouldn’t have expected the Order to teach you everything, but . . . surely they know that you’re out of your league against Dorothy.”
I folded my arms across my chest.
“Out of my league? They told me I was the only one who could kill her.”
“That may be true,” he said. “And, it may not. It’s just a theory, and, after all, Mombi and her friends have been wrong before. But let’s just say the witches’ theory is correct. Just for the sake of argument. Do you suppose that Dorothy doesn’t know about it? Do you suppose she hasn’t gone to great lengths to protect herself?”
“Of course she has,” I said. “That’s why I had to spend all this time pretending to be a maid—so that I could get to her when she was weak.”
“Her Highness has wrapped herself in intricate layers of protection, it’s true. And with the Order’s help, you’ve already managed to breach many of those walls. But the princess is not the only player in this game. She may not even be the most important player. There are things protecting Dorothy that she herself doesn’t even know about. Just as you don’t.”
“She doesn’t know about them. I don’t know about them. The Order doesn’t know about them. And you do?”
“Oh, Amy. I’ve learned a bit of magic, here and there, since I returned to Oz, but let’s face it—I’ll always be a bit of a humbug when it comes to that sort of thing. My real wizardry has nothing to do with spells at all. It has to do with knowledge. I knew about you the moment you arrived here, didn’t I? Even the most unbreakable of spells are meant to be broken. You just need to know a thing or two. It’s the knowing things part that just so happens to be my specialty.”
This was getting very annoying. “Look. You obviously want to tell me something,” I said, checking my imaginary wristwatch. “So just stop screwing around and let’s hear it.” I looked around nervously, knowing Glinda could come magicking around the corner at any second.
The Wizard sighed theatrically and rolled his head back and forth like he was really struggling to make up his mind.
“Killing Dorothy can only be done by a certain kind of person, and some people think that person is you. But what the Order seems to have missed is that it can only be done a certain way. Certain . . . tools are necessary. Certain items to which the princess has a special connection. You may have ascertained that several of Dorothy’s loyal companions are not quite what they used to be. Am I correct?”
“How should I know what anything used to be?” I asked. “I’m new here, in case you didn’t notice.”
“Well, I hear there’s a book,” he said with a wry laugh. “Haven’t you read it? I’m talking, of course, about the Scarecrow. The Tin Woodman. The Lion. Why do you suppose they’re so different from the heroes you expected to meet?”
“Because of Dorothy,” I said. “She changed them somehow.”
“That would be the obvious answer. Maybe even the right one. But is anything ever that obvious? Haven’t you learned by now that the real story is not always the whole story? Dorothy’s friends didn’t just change because they were her friends. They changed because of the things that they value most. Or . . . the things they value most have been changed.”
“The Scarecrow’s brains,” I said, thinking out loud.
The Wizard twirled an index finger in the air.
“The Tin Man’s heart . . .”
“I think she’s getting it,” he said.
“And the Lion’s courage,” I finished.
“Retrieve them and you’ll be three steps closer to accomplishing your mission.”
I shook my head. It didn’t quite add up.
“You’re the one who gave them those things. And you didn’t even know magic. You were just messing with them. Giving them what they were asking for, whether it worked or not.”
“Very true,” he said. “Funny how even they never seemed to figure that out. You must admit, though, that my gifts did have a certain effect. Would you disagree?”
“How can I when I don’t know what you’re talking about? The only thing I know for sure is that I don’t trust you. At all.”
“As well you shouldn’t,” the Wizard said. “You shouldn’t trust anyone. Yes, I could be lying to you. On the other hand, where’s the risk in ripping out the Tin Woodman’s heart? Just to see what happens. If you don’t, he’ll probably kill you anyway.”
