No Place Like Oz
Page 25
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Before they could protest, a round, cheery-faced maid with blonde hair and a green uniform emerged from the main building and led Aunt Em and Uncle Henry up the stairs inside. They glanced back at me over their shoulders as they stepped through the entrance, a look of trepidation on their faces. “Toto,” I said, feeling almost guilty when I saw how out of their element they looked. “Why don’t you keep them company?” With a sharp bark, he went bounding after them.
Ozma moved her attention to the Scarecrow, who hadn’t said a word since we’d arrived. “I’m so pleased you came today,” she said. “There’s a delegation here from Gillikin Country and I could really use someone with brains in the room when it comes to dealing with them.”
She looked at me with an air of wry conspiracy. “Keeping everyone in Oz happy is no small feat,” she said. “Every day there’s a new visitor with a new list of requests. Easily met, most of them, but you have no idea how dull it can be, sitting in those meetings.”
The Scarecrow bowed. “I am at your service, Princess.”
“Oh, stop that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know bowing makes me uncomfortable.”
“Of course,” he said.
“The delegation is in the reception room,” Ozma said. “They shouldn’t give you too much trouble, but you know how the Gillikins are—always bickering amongst themselves and forgetting what they even want in the first place. It could take some time.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I don’t require sleep.” The Scarecrow leaned in to give me a peck on the cheek, and as he did, he whispered: “Remember. Be careful. And not a word about the shoes.”
As I watched him go, Ozma grabbed me by the elbow. “Come inside the castle. Let me show you what I’ve done.”
The main hall of the palace was magnificent, but there was a surprising coziness to it, too—you could tell someone actually lived here. Ozma had lined the walls with damask wallpaper, and filled the space with plush velvet couches overflowing with throw pillows and ornate end tables and carved oak chairs upholstered in leather. From the diamond-shaped black-and-white tiles on the floor to the crystal chandeliers to the lush, exotic-looking plants sprouting from every corner of the room, it felt stately and elegant but warm and welcoming, too.
“What do you think?” Ozma asked, almost nervously, as we walked past a dramatic, sweeping staircase. It almost felt like she wanted me to be impressed.
I was a bit surprised that she seemed to care so much about my opinion—she was the princess after all, a descendant of the fairy Lurline, supposedly, and the heir to the greatest kingdom in the world. I was just an ordinary farm girl from dusty, gray Kansas. What did I know about interior decoration?
“It’s very nice,” I said, as if I saw beautiful, grand things all the time and this was just another one of them. “You’ve made it so much nicer than when the Wizard lived here.”
“Yes, well, he did have a bachelor’s taste, didn’t he? Anyway, all this is thanks to you, Dorothy. You saved my kingdom when I was”—she paused—“you know. Indisposed. If it wasn’t for you, the witches would probably be living here now.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine what they would have done with the place? You have no idea how much I owe you.”
I looked around at this dream palace full of treasure and beauty and luxury, and suddenly I had a pretty good notion of what she owed me, actually. Maybe I was just the teeniest bit jealous that she got to live like this, all thanks to me. There was a part of me that wondered if I would have been the princess if I’d stayed.
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. “Oz was in danger. I only did what any decent person would have.”
“No, Dorothy. Not everyone would have done it. You did it. You’re more special than you know.”
How could I argue with that? “Okay,” I admitted modestly. “Maybe I’m a little special.”
Ozma threw her head back and let out a lilting, musical giggle. “I think we’re going to be great friends,” she said, wrapping an arm around my waist and tipping her head against my shoulder. She led me through the great entrance hall to a series of French doors that looked out onto a lush, expansive garden dotted with fountains and topiary sculptures.
“So do I,” I said, remembering what the Scarecrow had told me. If I was going to find Glinda, it appeared that I had to make Ozma trust me. I had to become her friend. Truthfully, it didn’t seem like it would be very difficult.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Ozma said. “Well, it’s always a beautiful day here, but still. Let’s take a walk in the gardens. I’ve got so much to ask you. Starting with how in the world you got here!”
Twelve
In Ozma’s gardens, the hedges were tall and greener than green, and were sculpted into strange, looming figures that were three times as tall as either of us. Some of them were covered in strange little blossoms, others were grown over with vines and fragrant honeysuckle and jacaranda and flowers that I didn’t recognize.
Some of the flowers had tiny little eyes like the funny little puffballs that were growing all over the old farmhouse back in Munchkin Country. They all twisted in my direction to stare at me.
If you’ve never had fifty plants with human eyeballs stare at you, you have no idea how disconcerting a feeling it is.
A path wound its way through the grounds, forking off into other trails that led into little grassy valleys, groves of orange trees, little sitting areas with wrought-iron benches. Back home what passed for a garden was usually a couple of tomato plants and maybe some scraggly old petunias. This was something else.
Ozma moved her attention to the Scarecrow, who hadn’t said a word since we’d arrived. “I’m so pleased you came today,” she said. “There’s a delegation here from Gillikin Country and I could really use someone with brains in the room when it comes to dealing with them.”
She looked at me with an air of wry conspiracy. “Keeping everyone in Oz happy is no small feat,” she said. “Every day there’s a new visitor with a new list of requests. Easily met, most of them, but you have no idea how dull it can be, sitting in those meetings.”
The Scarecrow bowed. “I am at your service, Princess.”
“Oh, stop that,” she said, rolling her eyes. “You know bowing makes me uncomfortable.”
“Of course,” he said.
“The delegation is in the reception room,” Ozma said. “They shouldn’t give you too much trouble, but you know how the Gillikins are—always bickering amongst themselves and forgetting what they even want in the first place. It could take some time.”
“Well, then it’s a good thing I don’t require sleep.” The Scarecrow leaned in to give me a peck on the cheek, and as he did, he whispered: “Remember. Be careful. And not a word about the shoes.”
As I watched him go, Ozma grabbed me by the elbow. “Come inside the castle. Let me show you what I’ve done.”
The main hall of the palace was magnificent, but there was a surprising coziness to it, too—you could tell someone actually lived here. Ozma had lined the walls with damask wallpaper, and filled the space with plush velvet couches overflowing with throw pillows and ornate end tables and carved oak chairs upholstered in leather. From the diamond-shaped black-and-white tiles on the floor to the crystal chandeliers to the lush, exotic-looking plants sprouting from every corner of the room, it felt stately and elegant but warm and welcoming, too.
“What do you think?” Ozma asked, almost nervously, as we walked past a dramatic, sweeping staircase. It almost felt like she wanted me to be impressed.
I was a bit surprised that she seemed to care so much about my opinion—she was the princess after all, a descendant of the fairy Lurline, supposedly, and the heir to the greatest kingdom in the world. I was just an ordinary farm girl from dusty, gray Kansas. What did I know about interior decoration?
“It’s very nice,” I said, as if I saw beautiful, grand things all the time and this was just another one of them. “You’ve made it so much nicer than when the Wizard lived here.”
“Yes, well, he did have a bachelor’s taste, didn’t he? Anyway, all this is thanks to you, Dorothy. You saved my kingdom when I was”—she paused—“you know. Indisposed. If it wasn’t for you, the witches would probably be living here now.” She shuddered. “Can you imagine what they would have done with the place? You have no idea how much I owe you.”
I looked around at this dream palace full of treasure and beauty and luxury, and suddenly I had a pretty good notion of what she owed me, actually. Maybe I was just the teeniest bit jealous that she got to live like this, all thanks to me. There was a part of me that wondered if I would have been the princess if I’d stayed.
“Of course,” I said, forcing a smile. “Oz was in danger. I only did what any decent person would have.”
“No, Dorothy. Not everyone would have done it. You did it. You’re more special than you know.”
How could I argue with that? “Okay,” I admitted modestly. “Maybe I’m a little special.”
Ozma threw her head back and let out a lilting, musical giggle. “I think we’re going to be great friends,” she said, wrapping an arm around my waist and tipping her head against my shoulder. She led me through the great entrance hall to a series of French doors that looked out onto a lush, expansive garden dotted with fountains and topiary sculptures.
“So do I,” I said, remembering what the Scarecrow had told me. If I was going to find Glinda, it appeared that I had to make Ozma trust me. I had to become her friend. Truthfully, it didn’t seem like it would be very difficult.
“It’s a beautiful day,” Ozma said. “Well, it’s always a beautiful day here, but still. Let’s take a walk in the gardens. I’ve got so much to ask you. Starting with how in the world you got here!”
Twelve
In Ozma’s gardens, the hedges were tall and greener than green, and were sculpted into strange, looming figures that were three times as tall as either of us. Some of them were covered in strange little blossoms, others were grown over with vines and fragrant honeysuckle and jacaranda and flowers that I didn’t recognize.
Some of the flowers had tiny little eyes like the funny little puffballs that were growing all over the old farmhouse back in Munchkin Country. They all twisted in my direction to stare at me.
If you’ve never had fifty plants with human eyeballs stare at you, you have no idea how disconcerting a feeling it is.
A path wound its way through the grounds, forking off into other trails that led into little grassy valleys, groves of orange trees, little sitting areas with wrought-iron benches. Back home what passed for a garden was usually a couple of tomato plants and maybe some scraggly old petunias. This was something else.
