The Wizard Returns
Page 22
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The Wizard drew himself up to his full height—which was, admittedly, not very tall. “I accept your apology,” he lied, “and I accept your task. I will not fail. Do not forget that I did rule Oz, and well.”
“‘Well’ is not precisely the word I would have used,” the fairy king said, laughing, “but I have no doubt you will do your earnest best on our behalf. I offer you a token—and a reminder—of our . . . esteem.” The fairy king bent forward and scooped up a palmful of water from the black pool. He took his palm away, and the globe of water floated there; with both hands, he pinched and shaped it, drawing it out into an ebony cane. When it was finished, he presented it to the Wizard with a flourish. “Do not forget us,” he said lightly. “We will be watching you, Wizard. Of that, you can be certain.”
“I have no doubt,” the Wizard said coolly. “But I have no need of your gifts.”
“I insist,” the king said coldly, holding it out. The Wizard hesitated, and then accepted the cane. He tapped it experimentally against the ground; it was as solid as an ordinary cane, though the wood was shot through with an obsidian slickness that echoed the water of the pool. As he looked at it, an eye opened in the dark wood and winked at him before disappearing again. So this was how they would watch him. He would have to be very careful, indeed. He had no doubt that if he found a way to get rid of the cane they would punish him for it somehow. Now was not the time to defy them. No, he’d wait until the moment was right.
“Then we are agreed,” the fairy king said, and the Wizard smiled, matching the king’s oily grin with one of his own.
“But of course.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed the fairy’s face before vanishing again, and the Wizard smiled to himself in triumph. Not so sure of yourself now, are you? he thought.
“Then let us celebrate,” the fairy king said, “and afterward, we shall return you to the world above to begin your most noble quest.” He clapped his hands, and a parade of extraordinary creatures—lithe, beautiful girls with the bodies of human women and the heads of deer, a fat little troll in an ermine coat far too big for him, a frog the size of a man dressed in a tuxedo with tails—capered into the throne room, bearing platters of steaming dishes and a host of folding tables. Wine poured itself from floating bottles into heavy goblets of silver and gold that settled themselves onto trays, to be whisked about by mournful-looking specters as insubstantial as mist—as the Wizard saw when a fairy walked right through one of them, snatching up a wineglass as the ghostly waiter dissolved and then re-formed. The king himself served the Wizard a heaping portion of roast venison on a white china plate and drew up a folding table and a comfortable little chair before returning to his throne with a plate of his own. And though the room was full of merriment—fairies chatting, gossiping, exclaiming over this delicacy and that—they all ignored the Wizard as completely as if he were invisible, so that a miserable sense of loneliness punctuated the feast and turned the taste of the meat to ashes in his mouth.
“I had better be going,” he said aloud. No one paid him any attention as he pushed away the table and got up. Without his even reaching for it, the cane found its way to his hand. A dull, shabby corridor that bore a resemblance to the one that had led him to this awful room opened up in the wall before him. And as he stumbled down it, the Sunfruit Schnapps churned in his belly, and he wondered if he was going to be sick. As he left, the fairies’ laughter echoed behind him, high-pitched and cruel, and it rang down the hallway after him for a long time.
THIRTEEN
The climb up the stairs from the fairies’ kingdom was not as long as he remembered it, and he soon emerged, blinking, into the sunlit meadow where Pete and Iris had left him. Pete was sitting with his back against a tree, eating an apple.
“So you made your choice,” Pete said. “And you remember now what you are.”
“So I did. And yes, I do.”
They were both quiet, looking at each other.
“The fairies can be—”
“Awful?”
“I was going to say complicated,” Pete said, smiling a little, “but yes, that, too. But you have to understand, the good of Oz is what they care about most. No matter how they seem to the . . . unprepared visitor.”
“Is it,” the Wizard said. Pete looked at him, surprised, and for the first time since the Wizard had met him he looked uncertain.
“Of course,” Pete said. “That’s all any of us want. What’s best for Oz.”
“Of course,” the Wizard echoed.
“That’s why you chose this,” Pete said. “That’s why you chose to stay. To fight for what Oz once was—and will be again. We won’t fail. We’ll defeat Dorothy, and restore the balance.”
“That’s all I want,” the Wizard said smoothly, and Pete’s face collapsed into relief.
“Good,” he said. “I’m sorry I—underestimated you.” Pete took a deep breath. “Listen—I owe you an apology. All along, I expected the worst from you.”
“I can’t really blame you,” the Wizard said gently. “I did things that were unforgivable. I can hardly expect you to simply forget the past.”
“I can’t forget the past,” Pete said nobly. “But I did forget something just as important. I forgot that people can change. Even people who have done terrible things.”
“‘Well’ is not precisely the word I would have used,” the fairy king said, laughing, “but I have no doubt you will do your earnest best on our behalf. I offer you a token—and a reminder—of our . . . esteem.” The fairy king bent forward and scooped up a palmful of water from the black pool. He took his palm away, and the globe of water floated there; with both hands, he pinched and shaped it, drawing it out into an ebony cane. When it was finished, he presented it to the Wizard with a flourish. “Do not forget us,” he said lightly. “We will be watching you, Wizard. Of that, you can be certain.”
“I have no doubt,” the Wizard said coolly. “But I have no need of your gifts.”
“I insist,” the king said coldly, holding it out. The Wizard hesitated, and then accepted the cane. He tapped it experimentally against the ground; it was as solid as an ordinary cane, though the wood was shot through with an obsidian slickness that echoed the water of the pool. As he looked at it, an eye opened in the dark wood and winked at him before disappearing again. So this was how they would watch him. He would have to be very careful, indeed. He had no doubt that if he found a way to get rid of the cane they would punish him for it somehow. Now was not the time to defy them. No, he’d wait until the moment was right.
“Then we are agreed,” the fairy king said, and the Wizard smiled, matching the king’s oily grin with one of his own.
“But of course.” A flicker of uncertainty crossed the fairy’s face before vanishing again, and the Wizard smiled to himself in triumph. Not so sure of yourself now, are you? he thought.
“Then let us celebrate,” the fairy king said, “and afterward, we shall return you to the world above to begin your most noble quest.” He clapped his hands, and a parade of extraordinary creatures—lithe, beautiful girls with the bodies of human women and the heads of deer, a fat little troll in an ermine coat far too big for him, a frog the size of a man dressed in a tuxedo with tails—capered into the throne room, bearing platters of steaming dishes and a host of folding tables. Wine poured itself from floating bottles into heavy goblets of silver and gold that settled themselves onto trays, to be whisked about by mournful-looking specters as insubstantial as mist—as the Wizard saw when a fairy walked right through one of them, snatching up a wineglass as the ghostly waiter dissolved and then re-formed. The king himself served the Wizard a heaping portion of roast venison on a white china plate and drew up a folding table and a comfortable little chair before returning to his throne with a plate of his own. And though the room was full of merriment—fairies chatting, gossiping, exclaiming over this delicacy and that—they all ignored the Wizard as completely as if he were invisible, so that a miserable sense of loneliness punctuated the feast and turned the taste of the meat to ashes in his mouth.
“I had better be going,” he said aloud. No one paid him any attention as he pushed away the table and got up. Without his even reaching for it, the cane found its way to his hand. A dull, shabby corridor that bore a resemblance to the one that had led him to this awful room opened up in the wall before him. And as he stumbled down it, the Sunfruit Schnapps churned in his belly, and he wondered if he was going to be sick. As he left, the fairies’ laughter echoed behind him, high-pitched and cruel, and it rang down the hallway after him for a long time.
THIRTEEN
The climb up the stairs from the fairies’ kingdom was not as long as he remembered it, and he soon emerged, blinking, into the sunlit meadow where Pete and Iris had left him. Pete was sitting with his back against a tree, eating an apple.
“So you made your choice,” Pete said. “And you remember now what you are.”
“So I did. And yes, I do.”
They were both quiet, looking at each other.
“The fairies can be—”
“Awful?”
“I was going to say complicated,” Pete said, smiling a little, “but yes, that, too. But you have to understand, the good of Oz is what they care about most. No matter how they seem to the . . . unprepared visitor.”
“Is it,” the Wizard said. Pete looked at him, surprised, and for the first time since the Wizard had met him he looked uncertain.
“Of course,” Pete said. “That’s all any of us want. What’s best for Oz.”
“Of course,” the Wizard echoed.
“That’s why you chose this,” Pete said. “That’s why you chose to stay. To fight for what Oz once was—and will be again. We won’t fail. We’ll defeat Dorothy, and restore the balance.”
“That’s all I want,” the Wizard said smoothly, and Pete’s face collapsed into relief.
“Good,” he said. “I’m sorry I—underestimated you.” Pete took a deep breath. “Listen—I owe you an apology. All along, I expected the worst from you.”
“I can’t really blame you,” the Wizard said gently. “I did things that were unforgivable. I can hardly expect you to simply forget the past.”
“I can’t forget the past,” Pete said nobly. “But I did forget something just as important. I forgot that people can change. Even people who have done terrible things.”
