Dorothy Must Die

Chapter Thirty-Four

I breathed a sigh of relief the next morning when the sun came up like normal. Dorothy must’ve gotten enough beauty sleep. The Great Clock was turning again.

I went through my daily chores as usual, boredom and nervousness mingling dangerously in the pit of my stomach. Ollie was going to meet me in the Royal Gardens at midnight, which meant I had to rescue Maude as close to that time as possible. I could manage hiding my pet rat in my room, but what was I going to do with a winged monkey? No, I had to time this out perfectly.

I found Jellia at the end of my shift. Two days of that dead-mouse smell had caused some major cracks to form in her jovial exterior. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her smock wrinkled and flecked with smudges, and her hair was in total disarray. Worst of all, her lips were taut and stress sores had formed at the corners of her mouth, probably from too much PermaSmile.

The other maids had been keeping their distance and Jellia, not the least bit oblivious to the effects of her pungent aroma, had assigned herself chores that kept her isolated. As she finished cleaning out the kitchen’s grease traps, I went right up to her like nothing was wrong.

“Hey, Jellia,” I said, smiling gratefully. “I just wanted to say thank you for giving me the day off yesterday. I feel much better.”

A fragile smile spread across Jellia’s face. For a moment, she seemed to regain some of her pep. “Of course, Astrid. Think nothing of it.”

Without hesitating, acting like the smell didn’t even bother me, I went in for a hug. I squeezed Jellia tightly and, after a moment’s hesitation, she hugged back. And then she clung to me for a few seconds longer than normal hug-length, letting out a little whimpering noise.

“It’ll be okay,” I whispered to her.

When I pulled back, Jellia wiped the corners of her eyes. “Thank you. I needed that.”

I sincerely thought Jellia needed some cheering up and I wanted to make her feel better. So I felt a little pang of guilt as I walked away holding the master key ring I’d fished from the non-smelly pocket of her smock. She was the only maid entrusted with access to every room in the palace, which meant I had no choice but to pickpocket her. I hoped she didn’t realize the keys were missing until the morning, when I planned to find some way of giving them back to her—losing them would just be one more thing for Jellia to freak out about. Still, it had to be done. Hopefully, the worst-case scenario was Jellia spending a sleepless night worrying about her keys instead of a sleepless night gagging on mouse smell.

I made it back to my room and waited for nightfall. Lucky for me, Dorothy was still on her twelve hours of beauty sleep kick, so the moon rose promptly and the palace went quiet. It was actually kind of nice for the servants; without Dorothy raging around, they could relax.

I held Star close before I departed.

“If I don’t come back,” I told her, “find a way to give everyone the plague.”

I crept upstairs to the Scarecrow’s room without seeing another soul. The hay bales were still stacked next to his door, awaiting their hideous fate of being stuffed inside the burlap folds of a maniac.

I needed to make this look like an accident.

I approached the wall sconce closest to the bales, the one right next to the Scarecrow’s door. Inside, the ornate oil lamp glowed brightly. I produced my knife and slid it against the base of the lamp, just hard enough to create a small crack. Oil began to leak out, dribbling slowly down the wall, onto the floor, and then seeping into the nearest bale.

Now I just needed to create a spark.

Before I realized what was happening, my dagger began glowing white-hot. Was I doing that? Or was the dagger helping me along?

Regardless, the blade sizzled up against the oil spillage, igniting it. Blue flame spread from the wall to the bales, which immediately started to crack and smolder. Soon, they’d all go up.

Using Jellia’s keys, I slipped into the Scarecrow’s room, shutting out the growing cloud of smoke behind me. I kicked some of the trash from his floor—more straw, loose papers, discarded scrolls—toward the door, knowing that they’d catch when the fire spread.

If a fire in his room didn’t draw the Scarecrow out of his laboratory, I didn’t know what would.

Next, I climbed out the same window Ollie had left by yesterday, clambering onto the tree. I wasn’t nearly as graceful as he’d been—the branches scratched my face and the backs of my hands, creaking under my weight, but I managed to climb down, carefully and quietly.

Above, I could hear shouts from the Scarecrow’s floor. Smoke was now spilling out from the window I’d climbed out of. From my position halfway down the tree, I had a pretty clear view of the palace grounds. A few stories up, the fire crackled, louder and louder. I watched and waited, slowly beginning to dread that he wouldn’t come. That I’d become an arsonist for nothing, endangered my cover, and let Ollie down.

But then I saw a lanky shadow step away from the recesses of the greenhouse. It was him! The Scarecrow crossed the palace lawn on long strides, his head tilted up to see the furnace glow emanating from his room. He’d taken the bait.

When he was out of sight, I dropped the rest of the way out of the tree, landing softly at its base. In the distance, the dome of the greenhouse was glowing with the huge reflection of the full moon. It wasn’t far now.

The palace grounds were just as beautiful at night as they were during the day. But, lit as they were by delicate lanterns and glittering tea candles, they didn’t offer a lot of cover. I sprinted across the lawn, hoping everyone would be too distracted by the fire to spot me.

In his haste, the Scarecrow had left the greenhouse unlocked. I rushed through the door, the fragrant smell of flowers immediately wiping away the charred scent of the palace. I paused for a moment, catching my breath and listening. All I could hear was muffled shouting from the palace—no guards chasing after me, no Tin Soldiers clanking in this direction. Just a caw or two escaped from the dark recesses of the greenhouse. I’d made it. So far so good.

The greenhouse was filled with rows and rows of flowers like nothing I’d ever seen before. There were huge roses with blossoms bigger than soccer balls and bright-red poppies that opened and closed their petals every few seconds as if they were breathing, expelling pale pink pollen into the air as they did. There were tulips whose colors changed every few seconds, cycling through all the colors of the rainbow, and towering sunflowers that sparkled in the near darkness, their petals seeming to give off their own sunlight.

The rows of plants went on and on and on. This, I realized, was what Oz should be like everywhere. Dorothy wasn’t just satisfied with stealing the magic from Oz—she was also stealing what the magic created. Someday, I hoped that I’d have a chance to see some of these plants growing in the wild, out of Dorothy’s reach.

But not tonight.

I hurried toward the back, the sound of the crows getting louder and louder, until I was only steps from the aviary. It was now or never. I ignored my fear, unlatched the door, and stepped into the cage.

Inside, they were everywhere. On perches high above and on the ground, pecking at seeds that were sprinkling down from a wrought-iron feeder hanging from the ceiling like a chandelier. Standing careful guard.

Despite their vigil, they ignored me.

I kept my breath shallow and steady, hoping that Pete was right, and that neither their hearing or vision was very good, trying not to think about their razor-sharp claws and even sharper curved beaks.

I’d only had a narrow glimpse of the Scarecrow’s laboratory, but I got the feeling it was underground. There weren’t any staircases that I could see in the aviary. Most of the floor was covered in seed, feathers, and bird crap.

Except the birdbath. That, oddly enough, was mostly clean. Stranger still, the ravens didn’t perch there.

I approached, tiptoeing past the birds that scavenged for seed at my feet. I ran my fingers along the edge of the birdbath, examining it for a button or a latch or anything else that might give me a clue about what to do next.

Nothing.

The stagnant puddle of water in the bath’s basin was murky and black and stinky with mildew. It was impossible to see what was down there . . . which made it a perfect hiding place. I had an idea. I held my knife out and willed it to fill with heat like it had back in the palace. The weapon felt eager to please, turning orange, the color of an almost-extinguished ember. I concentrated harder and turned up the juice until it was shining so brightly that it hurt to look at it.

I plunged it into the fountain, the water steaming as it came into contact with the blade. I could see through the cloudy pool to the bottom where my knife illuminated something dark and round.

A button.

I jammed the butt of my knife against the button, and it gave easily.

The birdbath disappeared right out from under me, and I almost tipped over and fell flat on my face. I managed to keep my balance, though, and looked down to see that where the birdbath had stood just a few seconds earlier, a small round door like a manhole had appeared in the ground. I leaned down and tentatively lifted it—inside, a stairway spiraled into darkness.

From somewhere high above my head, I heard a loud Ka-caw!

Then, an excited rustling. I’d gotten their attention.

Another crow cried out, and then another and another until they all seemed to be screaming at me.

A rumbling sound began to build as my peripheral vision clouded with a fluttering blackness. The rumble got louder and louder, and then I realized what it was: it was the sound of hundreds of birds flapping their wings all at once. They were all flying right for me.

With no time to worry about what was down there, I stepped through the door and plunged down the twisting stairway. I felt like I was running for my life, trusting my feet to find their purchase against the treacherous stone stairs. They didn’t let me down. Nox had trained me well.

The door slammed shut behind me and everything suddenly went completely black. Able to see exactly nothing, I stopped and looked up and waited for my eyes to adjust.

They didn’t. I decided to light my knife up again, finding it even easier the second time than the first, and held it aloft. Or tried to. I hit rock a few inches above my head. I climbed back up the staircase and examined the back of the door, but it didn’t have any handles or buttons. I had no idea how to open it back up. Well, I thought, at least it will keep the crows out. Plus, I might be trapped. With no other direction to go but down, and only my knife to light the way, I descended.

When the steps finally ended, I looked around, the glow of my knife lighting up an entire room. The Scarecrow’s House of Horrors was almost as I had imagined it to be. Except worse.

There were two long metal tables set up with horrific instruments like the ones I’d seen in his room, and a metal chair with restraints on the arms and the legs. I was pretty sure that’s what Maude had been strapped into yesterday. So where was she now?

Next to the chair was a square, squat machine, with a bunch of circular dials and gauges on it. It was attached to a long leather tube. I didn’t want to know what that was.

Against the wall was a huge shelf lined with big glass jars—the kind that Gert kept her dried herbs and potion ingredients in. But these jars weren’t filled with mandrake root and nightshade dust.

Many of them held what looked like brains floating around in some kind of glowing green liquid. I stepped closer. They were pulsing. They were still alive, I realized in horror. It wasn’t just brains—there were other body parts, too, ears and hands and tiny little white wings. From baby monkeys? I shuddered.

I turned my attention to a wooden drafting table, which was papered with sketches and anatomical diagrams. There were monkeys, Kalidahs, a chicken, and a few other animals I didn’t even recognize.

I tore my eyes away and began looking for signs of actual life. “Hello?” I called out. “Is anyone here? Maude?”

I wasn’t really expecting an answer, but then I heard a noise, a barely audible moan coming from behind a metal door I hadn’t noticed in the back of the room, on the other side of the boxy machine. The moan came again, louder this time, and I knew that as afraid as I was, there was someone, or something, on the other side who had it a lot worse than me.

I held my breath before opening the door, picturing all the terrible things I might find.

The next room was smaller and filled entirely with rusty metal gurneys. They were caked in dried blood, but at least there were no bodies on them.

Then I saw her. In the back of the room, a tiny monkey in a frilly pink dress was cowering in a metal cage that was barely big enough to contain her. Feathers from her twisted, mangled wings poked through the bars.

“Maude?” I asked gently. “Is that you?”

She looked up at me with scared, big brown eyes. They looked like Ollie’s only minus the mischief. But the rest of her was not at all like Ollie. Her head was freshly shaved and her arms were wrapped with cloth bandages.

I crouched down next to her. “I’m here to get you out,” I said in the gentlest voice possible.

“Who . . . ?” she croaked wearily.

“I’m Amy. Ollie sent me.”

“Ollie?” Her eyes filled with momentary hope before clouding over again. “No,” she said. “He would never . . . why would he help me when I was so terrible to him?”

“Why wouldn’t he?” I asked.

“He was right about everything. I should have listened.” Her eyes rolled back into her head.

“Maude,” I said, snapping my fingers in her face. “Can you move? We need to get out of here.”

She nodded, but otherwise she didn’t budge. She was out of it; I’m pretty sure she thought I was a dream.

I started looking around for the keys to her cage, then realized I didn’t need them. The Scarecrow would know Maude had escaped, so screw it. I bashed the lock with my dagger until it broke open.

The banging seemed to wake Maude up a bit and her eyes focused on me. I leaned in and helped her out of her prison and onto the ground, but when I tried to lift her into my arms to carry her, she brushed my hands away.

“I can walk,” Maude said. As an afterthought, she reached over her shoulder and felt for her wings, like she had forgotten whether or not she still had them. As she brushed her fingers through the matted feathers, I couldn’t tell if she was relieved or disappointed.

She didn’t say anything—she just reached up and grabbed my hand and hobbled along beside me, past the gurneys and through the door into the main lab.

I could hear the crows outside, their mad ka-caws echoing down the passageway. We weren’t going to be able to leave that way.

“Is there another way out of here?” I asked.

Maude either didn’t hear my question or chose to ignore it. Her eyes had filled with rage. She was staring at the Scarecrow’s machine.

“Did he use that on you?” I asked, my voice somber.

Slowly, she nodded.

Hell with it. Why stop wrecking stuff now? I walked to the machine and shoved it over. It crashed loudly to the ground, its gears spilling out and spiraling across the floor like loose change. I looked back at Maude.

“He’ll only fix it,” she said.

“I know,” I replied. “But I’d love to see the look on his stupid straw face when he finds it.”

Her cracked lips twitched, not quite smiling, but I thought I saw a spark of happiness in her tired eyes.

“What did he do to you? I asked. “What is the Scarecrow building down here?”

“I don’t . . . I don’t remember.”

She put a hand up to her shaved head, her eyes squeezed shut in pain. I couldn’t tell if it was physical or mental. Did it hurt to think? Or did it hurt to remember what had been done to her?

“He drained me . . .” Maude knuckled the back of her head. “He’s trying to make himself smarter.” I thought of Ozma and wondered if maybe the Scarecrow had drained her brain, too.

“But why?” I asked, looking around at all the equipment. The wall of specimens. It had to be something more than the Scarecrow having brain envy; nothing went on in this palace that didn’t somehow benefit Dorothy.

“He’s trying to . . . he’s going to . . .” She drifted off, going hazy.

And then, suddenly, the birds went silent.

“What has gotten into you? Be quiet, you dreadful beasts!” I heard the Scarecrow shouting at the ravens. He was back. The fire must’ve been put out. We were out of time.

“Oh no . . .” Maude moaned, her knees went weak, and I felt her almost collapse next to me.

I grabbed her by the shoulders. “Tell me there’s another way out of here.”

She shook her head, her eyes drifting toward the staircase. “Only through there.”

Trapped. My only option was magic.

“Take my hand,” I told Maude, trying to sound confident. “I’m getting us out of here.”

I had never gotten that comfortable with the travel spell that Mombi had taught me, but at this point, I had to risk it. It was dangerous—Gert and Nox had told me time and time again that I should never travel without clearly visualizing my destination, otherwise I was liable to end up teleporting myself into the middle of a brick wall.

I closed my eyes and tried to picture the Royal Gardens. I’d never actually been out there, only glimpsed them that day when I saw the Lion pop the eye out from that guard. What did I remember?

The sunflowers. A sprawling bed of overgrown sunflowers where the Lion had been napping. I pictured the flowers, but it wouldn’t do to travel into them, not unless I wanted petals and stems sticking out of me. I imagined the space directly above the flowers; the cool night air, the moonlight, the Royal Gardens. I focused on the details that would be below me, imagining the empty space where we’d travel.

It would be the most powerful spell I’d ever cast. And the most important.

My dagger throbbed in my hand. It wanted to stay and fight. Not a sound strategy, but that’s the kind of instinctual advice you get from a magic object that’s primary purpose is stabbing.

Distantly, I heard the Scarecrow shuffling down the steps. He was close, but I was already imagining myself far away. . . .

“Hold on to me,” I whispered. Even my own voice sounded as if it came from down a tunnel, the magic building up within me.

I felt Maude squeeze my hand and then I let go—not of her, but of this place. I heard a wooshing in my ears, felt the magic pulling me apart, and then we were gone.