The End of Oz
Page 15

 
 
SEVEN

DOROTHY
I wasn’t sure I’d heard the Munchkin right. “My wedding, Bupu? Whatever do you mean?”
She looked around anxiously. “It’s why he brought you here,” she whispered, as if the Nome King was standing behind us.
“He wants to marry me?” I didn’t blame him, of course, but I had to say I was surprised. In all the time I’d been in Oz, the Nome King hadn’t even tried to kiss me yet.
“I wasn’t supposed to tell you,” she said, hanging her head. “But you have been very nice to me. I wouldn’t like for the Nome King to hurt you, mistress.”
My gaze sharpened. “What do you mean, hurt me?”
She jumped back, alarmed, as if she had said too much. “Just that he hurts people! Mostly,” she added fearfully. “Maybe for you it will be different. Just ignore me.”
“Hmmm,” I said, pacing my chambers to try to get some of the soreness out of my muscles. “He’s up to something. But I can’t imagine what it is yet. It’s more than just marriage he’s after, I’ll bet all of Oz on it.”
Bupu nodded. “You are very wise, mistress.”
I sighed. “I know that, Bupu. But I need more information before I can figure out what to do next. Help me get ready, will you?”
I wanted to look my absolute best for my big rendezvous with the Nome King—I’ve always felt better when my ensemble is on point. But without magic, I was having trouble achieving the results I wanted. I brushed furiously at my hair, which was absolutely full of split ends. Disgusting. And I was willing to bet the miracle of conditioner had yet to reach Ev.
Bupu, bless her little heart, was more or less useless. She didn’t know a stiletto heel from a strainer, she couldn’t name a single type of fabric to save her life, and she’d clearly never dressed a member of the royal family, let alone done hair and makeup. I was going to have to do a lot on my own, and I was going to do it fast.
But surprising as it might sound, I was rather enjoying the challenge. I’d gotten soft in the Emerald City, I realized. Everyone was just so adoring all the time. My every whim was satisfied before I even whimmed it. I’d had rooms full of gorgeous dresses, plus all the magic in Oz at my disposal to alter them as I saw fit.
Here, I was outside of civilization—all I had was a wardrobe full of ball gowns the Nome King had selected himself, a grubby little servant with no experience, and, at least for now, no magic. Ensuring my style was up to my rigorous standards in these survival-only conditions was just the thing I needed to give me an extra dose of pep. Plus, as I realized when I examined myself in the mirror, I was a hot mess: battered, bruised, and haggard-looking. This was going to be a challenge for the ages.
It was already late in the afternoon, Bupu told me; I’d slept in, and our little chat after the Nome King’s visit had swallowed up the hours. If I wanted to look as beautiful as I was, I didn’t have much time to get myself in order.
As I pinched color into my cheeks and brushed my hair to a glossy shine, I thought about my new friend. Enemy. Whatever. I almost—almost—admired him. He was fearless and ruthless, he knew exactly what he wanted, and he refused to let other people’s motives and desires stand in his way.
When you got right down to it, our styles had a lot in common. Committing to a big-picture vision takes serious guts, especially when everyone around you is telling you ridiculous things like your approach is too dictatorial, or you should factor in human—or Munchkin—rights. Where were the human rights defenders when I was growing up in filthy poverty in the middle of nowhere, I’d like to know? I had to feed the chickens at five in the morning—every single day! And on top of my endless chores, I had to put up with the doubts and snickers of all the other people in Kansas who refused to believe the magical things I’d seen in Oz. That kind of oppression would have had a lasting effect on someone who wasn’t as strong and determined as I was.
Luckily for me, I had an incredible wealth of inner resources.
“Draw my bath, Bupu,” I said, briskly flipping through the gowns he’d left for me. None of them were suitable, of course. The Nome King’s style seemed to veer directly toward crypt-keeper. Maybe he should have kidnapped a vampire princess and not an ex–farm girl turned royalty like me.
“I don’t suppose it’s possible for you to find me something that’s a color?” I added crabbily, fingering layer after layer of black. I limped around the room, trying doors—most of them locked tight—until I opened one that led to a bathroom. Bupu was right on my heels, eager to help.
But from what I could see, I wasn’t going to need Bupu to fill my bath after all. A marble pool was already filling with steaming water as if it could read my mind. I happily discarded the Nome King’s creepy lingerie and slid into the water, hissing sharply as my battered flesh came into contact with the hot liquid.
“Oh no!” Bupu cried at the sight of my cuts and scrapes. She bustled about clumsily, returning with some kind of ointment that smelled like mold and looked like rotten flesh. “This will help,” she said. “Made from the finest healing funguses.” Mushrooms were apparently the cornerstone of everything around here.
“Oh, that’s all right,” I began, but the little Munchkin was already smearing the horrible-smelling stuff on my bruised shoulders. And while it was going to take another bath altogether to get rid of the stench, to my surprise the ointment actually worked. A soothing warmth spread through my muscles, and I sank back into the water with a sigh, allowing her to rub the salve gently into the rest of my bruises.
Bupu was inept, certainly; stupid, without a doubt; but she was the first person I’d met since—well, since Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, may they rest in peace—who seemed to have only my own best interests at heart. There had been Scare and the Lion, of course, but it had often seemed to me like they had secret agendas of their own. And poor, devoted Tin—but he was so blinded by his (understandable) love for me that he often failed to respect my wishes. And of course, once upon a time, I’d had Toto. Toto had been everything I wanted in a friend: sweet, cuddly, endlessly loyal.
Toto, however, was a dog.
And even Aunt Em and Uncle Henry, my own flesh and blood, had never believed me about Oz until they’d actually come here. And they’d quickly proved how unwilling they were to support me once I’d actually arrived. But here was this gentle, humble creature, seemingly with no agenda of her own.
Bupu watched nervously as I sank in stages into the water. Slowly, thanks to a combination of her ointment and the hot water, the pain subsided to a low, dull throb, and I leaned back against the tub’s stone rim and thought about what I was going to do next.
Why had the Nome King rescued me? What was I doing in his palace? Why on earth did he want to marry me? It couldn’t only be for love. There was something he wanted. Something I had. Something more than my amazing beauty and legendary charm.
And then it hit me. Of course. The shoes.
They might be his, but he couldn’t use them.
No one could use them but me.
In that moment I sent a silent thank-you to that treacherous, awful witch Glinda. She’d pretended to be my best friend and then she’d betrayed me. She was basically dead to me for all intents and purposes.