Dorothy Must Die Novella #5 Read online

  “Speak for yourself,” the Lion growled. “I’m not cowardly. I’ll fight.”

  “I’m not cowardly! I’m sensible.” The Scarecrow weighed their options. He didn’t like the idea of leaving the Munchkins. But running away would buy him time to come up with a plan—a strategy for how to deal with General Jinjur.

  “Jinjur only said she’d kill people who opposed her,” the Scarecrow pointed out. “As long as the Munchkins follow her orders, they should be safe. She’s here for us, not them.”

  Shaking his head, the Lion paced to the window and looked out. The courtyard was empty; all of Jinjur’s soldiers had poured into the castle already, and they hadn’t bothered to leave a guard outside. The body of the Royal Army lay in the mud where they had trampled him, broken and battered. Suddenly they heard metal clattering on the stairs, and a girl’s voice yelling “He’s in here!” A chorus of bloodthirsty shouts followed her pronouncement. “Kill him!” someone else screamed. “Tear out his stuffing and burn it!”

  “Jump on my back!” the Lion barked.

  “What?” The door banged open so hard it slammed into the wall and splintered, and girls ran into the room, taking aim with their weapons.

  “Just do it!” roared the Lion. The terrified Scarecrow lurched forward, grabbing the Lion’s mane desperately. Even before he had swung his leg over the Lion’s back, the Lion leapt out the window as bullets zinged past him. “Hold on!” the Lion shouted as the Scarecrow shrieked wordlessly in fear. The ground rushed toward them at unbelievable speed. The Scarecrow would have covered his eyes, but then he’d have to let go of the Lion’s mane.

  The Lion hit the ground with a thud that knocked the wind out of both of them, but there was no time to recover. Screaming girls hung out the window they’d just jumped from, and bullets thumped into the dirt all around them. Somehow, the Scarecrow had kept his deathly tight grip on the Lion’s mane during the landing. He could feel the Lion’s muscles bunching underneath him as his friend began to run.

  More soldiers streamed out of the main gates of the palace, howling bloodthirsty cries and taking shots at the escapees, but they couldn’t match the Lion’s speed. Soon, their pursuers fell away behind them, and their warlike shrieks faded away, to be replaced with the Lion’s hoarse, gasping breath. “Out . . . of . . . shape!” he panted. But he continued to run until there was no sign at all of Jinjur or her army, finally slowing to a walk when it was clear they were well away from the castle.

  The Scarecrow finally allowed his fingers to relax their grip on the Lion’s mane, and he slid from his friend’s back and collapsed on the ground, too shaken to sit up. The Lion sat down with a sigh, sprawling. “We shouldn’t rest long,” he said. “They’ll be after us. Nasty piece of work, those girls.”

  The Scarecrow was so tired and frightened he couldn’t think. “Where will we go? What will we do?”

  The Lion gave him an amused look. “You’re supposed to be the one with the brains, Scare. You can come back to the Kingdom of the Beasts with me, if you want. You’ll be safe enough there, and you can figure out what this Jinjur wants and where she came from.”

  The Scarecrow shook his head. “She said she wanted to rule Oz,” he said, bewildered. “But the Wizard said I should be king. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Apparently not,” the Lion rumbled. A thoughtful look crossed his face. “Oz is changing, old friend, whether we like it or not. An invasion of the Emerald Palace—I’ve never heard of such a thing either, and I was a cub long before you were put on a pole in that cornfield. Even when people were dissatisfied with the Wizard’s rule, they never would have tried to oust him. But now . . .” He chewed the end of his tail. “You’ve spent all your time in the library, old friend, and not enough letting the people of Oz know you’re their king. Jinjur saw an opportunity and took it. She must have been plotting ever since the Wizard took power, but it wasn’t until you took over the throne that she saw her chance.”

  “But how can I be a good king if I don’t know the job?” the Scarecrow asked, his voice plaintive. “Reading is the only way to learn.”

  The Lion looked at him solemnly. “Maybe it’s time you learn by doing,” he said.

  FOUR

  The Lion did not let them rest long. Sniffing and growling to himself, he paced around in the grass until he got his bearings, and then he urged the Scarecrow to his feet. The Scarecrow privately hoped his friend would continue to give him a ride, but the Lion did not offer and the Scarecrow didn’t ask. “The forest isn’t too far,” the Lion said as they started walking. “We’ll have to take care not to leave a trail, but we should be there within a day of walking.”

  The sun was high in the sky, and warm on their backs. The Scarecrow began to feel peevish. Already, the horror of the Royal Army’s death was fading. And now all he could think of was getting his precious books back. And the Munchkins, too, of course. “Tin is still on his way to the Emerald Palace,” he said suddenly. “We have to warn him.”

  The Lion shook his head in disbelief. “Of course. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it. We’ll tell him to take cover until we figure out what to do next.”

  “The Winkies might fight for us,” the Scarecrow argued. “We should tell him to meet us in the Forest of the Beasts.”

  “The Winkies? Fight? I don’t think so. And you know Tin’s more of a lover than a fighter himself.” The Lion chuckled at his own joke, and then reared up on his hind legs, bellowing a sequence of guttural roars that sounded like a strange code. He waited for a few minutes and then roared again. Suddenly a huge old crow descended out of the blue sky, landing in front of the Lion and cocking its head.

  Looking at it, the Scarecrow felt a sudden churning where his stomach should be. His straw rattled just a bit but he stilled himself. The Lion, all animal instinct, turned to him.

  “Scare?”

  The crow wasn’t one of the ones the Scarecrow had known when he was tied to the post in the field, not that long ago, before he received his gift. But it was a crow all the same.

  “You owe me a favor, fleabag,” it croaked to the Lion.

  “I’ll settle that once and for all after I’m back in the Forest of the Beasts,” the Lion said silkily. “But I’m afraid I need just one more thing from you.”

  The crow snorted and ruffled its ratty feathers. The Scarecrow wondered if it would even be able to take off again. The bird was so ancient it looked as though it was next to death. It cocked its head at him and cawed in delight.

  “The King of Oz!” it exclaimed, its beady eyes meeting the Scarecrow’s. “I didn’t even recognize you, sirrah. You’ve come a long way from the cornfields.” It bowed in a way that somehow managed to be sarcastic.

  “I’m not afraid of you,” the Scarecrow managed, keeping his voice even.

  The crow cackled, flapping its wings in merriment. “No, too clever for that!” it shrieked. It laughed so hard it fell over in the dust and had to struggle mightily to right itself.

  Scare narrowed his eyes at it. He wasn’t in the field anymore. He did not have to stand for this.

  “Bow before your king,” he said firmly. So firmly, that Lion glanced at him in surprise.

  The crow cocked its head to the side, as if considering another comeback.

  The Lion growled at the crow so loudly and with such wind that the crow’s feathers shook.

  The crow complied, touching its beak to the ground. When it rose, the Lion gave it instructions. And when the Scarecrow looked it in its beady eyes again, the crow looked away first.

  “You will take a message,” the Lion said wearily. “Our friend the Tin Woodman is journeying to the Emerald Palace, but he must return to the land of the Winkies for now. The palace has been overtaken by an enemy force.”

  At that, the crow looked startled. “But such a thing has never—”

  “Yes, we know,” the Scarecrow interrupted. Seeing the crow bow for him for real had somehow energized him. He could focus again on what
was important—keeping Tin safe. “If he goes to the palace unprepared, he’ll be riddled with bullets and torn apart for scrap. You have to warn him.”

  The crow eyeballed them both, looking as though it wanted to protest, but decided against it. “Very well,” it said, flapping its wings vigorously and launching awkwardly into the air. “But I’ll never help you again!” it shrieked at the Lion, before it caught an updraft and was gone.

  The Lion looked at the Scarecrow critically.

  “That was fun, but you know there’s no bowing on the battlefield.”

  The Scarecrow looked at him for a long beat, and answered, “I know.”

  The Lion studied him, and the Scarecrow could see a wave of recognition break across his broad face. The Lion knew the Scarecrow’s history with the crows.

  “I could have picked another kind of messenger. But time is so short,” he said, his voice gruff but gentle.

  Scarecrow’s brain was expanding faster and faster every day, so much so he sometimes worried he’d outgrow his dear old friend. But in moments like this, he knew that the Lion and Tin and Dorothy would always understand him no matter what.

  The Scarecrow shook his head. “Crows are effective messengers. And like you said, time is short.”

  “Still, it’s a nasty old thing,” the Lion said under his breath. “Ruling the beasts is a real chore sometimes. They’re not like your Munchkins. They don’t sing and work the day away. They devour it. Every moment is a challenge. Anyway,” he added in a normal tone, “the message will tell him to take cover. We might be able to rally the beasts to your cause.”

  “It’s your cause, too,” the Scarecrow pointed out. “I’m supposed to be your king.”

  “Of course you are, old friend. I just wanted to make sure it’s what you wanted . . .”

  “Why would you say that?”

  “I know your brain is up to the task, Scare. But the way Oz is going you’re going to end up with some blood on that shiny new uniform of yours . . . Oz is changing . . . but do you want it to change you?”

  It was Scare’s turn not to answer. At least not out loud. He needed time to think, to do more research. But he knew one thing—he was going to rule Oz intelligently. He was going to create a world where the mind was valued above all else. He’d go down in history as the cleverest king Oz had ever had.

  He took a deep breath and looked at his friend. “Lion, I want to be kind more than anything. And I want to educate all of Oz.”

  The Lion looked at him a long beat, his tail standing on end like it did when he was figuring something out. “You mean like have everyone go to school?”

  “Exactly,” he cried.

  “That’s either the dumbest or most brilliant thing I’ve ever heard,” Lion said with a laugh, and began moving again.

  Scare felt a spring in his straw step after that. Saying it out loud had given him even more energy. But Lion’s earlier assertion still haunted him a bit . . . His sawdust-stuffed brain struggled to process everything that had happened. Maybe the Lion was right; while Scare had been shut in with his books, Oz was changing. If that were the case, he’d have to find a way to keep up. But how could he fight off an entire army of invaders? There was no way he could retake the castle by himself. He’d have to think of a way to get the Lion to help him, maybe even all of the beasts. And that was going to take more craftiness than he’d ever used in his life. The Scarecrow smiled grimly to himself. If Oz itself was changing, so could he.

  Looking at the landscape, Scare realized he hadn’t been on a real adventure since Dorothy had landed in Oz, rescued him from the field where she’d found him, and swept him up in her quest to find the Wizard. He owed everything he was now to that girl and her funny dog. He wondered absently where she was now. Back in the Other Place, he supposed. If only he had a way to send her some kind of message, to tell her what had happened in the palace. The Scarecrow’s new brain had been helpful when he was the King of Oz, but he secretly had to admit that he wasn’t entirely sure it was up to snuff when it came to totally new situations like a coup and an invading army. But Dorothy would have known how to deal with Jinjur, he was sure of it. She’d figured out a solution to all the problems they’d faced before.

  Dorothy was the reason that he had come up with the idea of education. She’d told him about her schools back home. Apparently, the very young went there and learned about the world. If Oz had had one of those, maybe Jinjur wouldn’t be so ignorant and this whole mess wouldn’t be happening.

  He sighed. He wished he could bounce his current predicament off Dorothy. It didn’t matter. He had no way of reaching her, and he would have to deal with this strange new situation himself. He’d already come a long way from that sad stuffed creature languishing away in a cornfield. He’d helped Dorothy defeat the Wizard, gotten his brain, and become the King of Oz. Surely he could manage the coming conflict without the help of a child from another world. The Lion would have been ashamed of him if he’d spoken any of his doubts aloud. He stood up straighter as he walked, determined to turn over a new leaf, but hoofbeats on the path behind him caused him to turn.

  “Get under cover,” the Lion growled, pushing him toward a row of bushes. “Now.” The Scarecrow dove behind a bush, with the Lion close behind him, as the mysterious rider thundered toward them. They peered through the branches as the horse galloped past. Its haunches were smeared with blood and gore, and its rider was in even worse shape, barely clinging to its dirt-clumped mane. The horse was moving so quickly that it was difficult to make out the rider’s features, but the Scarecrow was certain it was a Munchkin—and it had looked absolutely terrified.

  “Wasn’t that one of the palace horses?” the Lion asked.

  “And I think that was one of the palace servants,” the Scarecrow said, nodding.

  The Lion frowned. “Perhaps he or she was just fleeing the battle.”

  The Scarecrow felt his brain stir, almost as if he were revving a motor. “The battle is over,” he said decisively. “It was over as soon as the Royal Army was killed and we left the palace. We’ve been walking for a while. This is something else.”

  The Lion nodded thoughtfully. “If we see another rider, we should stop him and ask—as long as it’s not one of Jinjur’s soldiers.”

  “I’d certainly rather not be captured by the likes of them,” the Scarecrow said with a shudder.

  Scare heard a strange, whooshing sound, but when he and Lion continued, all they found were more trees. As they pressed forward, Scare felt a few drops of rain landing on his lapel.

  He looked down as another drop landed on his hand. It wasn’t rain. It was dark red.

  It was blood.

  “Lion?” he said in a whisper. He looked up. Above him, a Munchkin was caught in some kind of elaborate web. The web was cutting into her skin, drawing drops of blood.

  A little voice cried, “Help me.”

  FIVE

  It took the Lion what seemed like a million excruciating minutes to tear the little Munchkin out of the tree. As Scare tended to her cuts, tearing cloth from his own palace finery, he noticed that she was a young, female Munchkin, dressed in a scullery uniform that was tattered and bloodstained. A purple bruise colored her left eye, and blood still trickled from where a clump of her hair had been torn out at the roots. Her eyes stared up at him, unseeing, and she was trembling with fear.

  “It’s all right,” the Scarecrow said as gently as he could. “It’s only me.” She was too upset to move on her own, so the Scarecrow and the Lion carefully carried her away from the path in case another rider—or one of Jinjur’s soldiers—appeared.

  “What happened?” the Lion growled. The Munchkin’s eyes seemed to focus, and a quizzical expression flashed across her face.

  “Your Majesty?” she asked, looking from the Lion to the Scarecrow. “Is it really you?”

  “It’s me,” he reassured her. “And my friend the Cow—” The Lion growled deep in his throat. “The Lion,” the Scarec
row amended hastily. “What’s happened? Did you come from the palace?”

  “Oh, Your Highness!” the Munchkin wailed, bursting into tears. “It’s so aw-aw-awful! Your Highness, you must come back and help us! Those g-g-g-irls!” She dissolved into sobs, and for several minutes made no sense at all. The Lion and the Scarecrow were forced to wait for her hysterical fit to subside as the Scarecrow patted her awkwardly on the back. She took several deep breaths, finally getting control of herself.

  “I’m sorry, Your Highness,” she said in a low voice. “Only it’s so awful, what’s happening at the palace. Jinjur’s been killing the servants left and right. She says we’re conspiring with the usurper—that’s you, sir, begging your pardon—and we have no place in the new regime! I snuck out of the palace in one of the laundry carts and was trying to walk to safety, but Jinjur’s forces must have set some kind of trap on their way to the palace.”

  It was worse than he imagined. A question, errant and wrong, bubbled up before the images of dead Munchkins replaced it: But how are my books? He stuffed it down and focused on his poor subjects. He had left them to be slaughtered.

  Scare spotted the Lion, whose mood had turned to vigilance. The Lion was crouched in punching mode and his eyes were darting around the forest ceiling. Scare looked around the forest, imaging new dangers everywhere—he spotted another web stretching low between two trees glistening in the waning Oz light.

  The Munchkin girl began to cry again. “We’re only trying to do our jobs, sir, just as we’ve always done. We don’t mind if it’s you ruling Oz, or the Wizard, or Ozma—our place has always been in the Emerald Palace. But now . . .” Her voice broke.

  The Scarecrow tried another tack. “Hibiscus Lemon . . .”

  “You know me?” she asked, so surprised that her tears were forgotten. She looked up at him; her big eyes blinked themselves dry.

  “Of course I do. East wing. Not terribly good with the duster but a master seamstress. Which is of particular importance to a king who is held together by needle and thread . . .”