XVI

Liir and Nanny stood on either side of the doorway, smiling, when Chistery and his companions came down with an ill-judged whump, dumping their passengers onto the cobbles of the inner courtyard. The Lion moaned in pain and wept from vertigo. Dorothy sat up, clutching the small dog in her arms, and said, “And where might we be now?”

“Welcome,” said Nanny, genuflecting.

“Hello,” said Liir, twisting one foot around the other and falling over into a bucket of water.

“You must be tired after your long trip,” said Nanny. “Would you like to freshen up some before we have a little light meal? Nothing fancy, you know, we’re way off the beaten track.”

“This is Kiamo Ko,” said Liir, beet red and standing up again. “The stronghold of the Arjiki tribe.”

“This is still Winkie territory?” said the girl anxiously.

“What’d she say, the little poppins, tell her to speak up,” said Nanny.

“It’s called the Vinkus,” said Liir. “Winkie is a kind of insult.”

“Oh goodness, I wouldn’t want to offend anyone!” she said. “Mercy, no.”

“Aren’t you a pretty little girl, all your arms and legs in the right place, and such delicate sensible inoffensive skin,” said Nanny, smiling.

“I’m Liir,” he said, “and I live here. This is my castle.”

“I’m Dorothy,” she said, “and I’m very worried about my friends—the Tin Woodman and the Scarecrow. Oh, please, can’t somebody do something for them? It’s dark, and they’ll be lost!”

“They can’t be hurt. I’ll go get them tomorrow in the daylight,” said Liir. “Promise. I’d do anything. Really, anything.”

“You’re so sweet, just like everyone else here,” said Dorothy. “Oh, Lion, are you all right? Was it terrible?”

“If the Unnamed God had wanted Lions to fly, he’d have given them hot-air balloons,” said the Lion. “I’m afraid I lost my lunch somewhere over the ravine.”

“Warm welcomes,” Nanny chirped. “We’ve been expecting you. I’ve worn my fingers to the bone, making a little something. It’s not much, but everything we have is yours. That’s our motto here in the mountains. The traveler is always welcome. Now let’s go find some hot water and soap at the pump, shall we, and then go in.”

“You’re too kind—but I need to find the Wicked Witch of the West,” Dorothy said. “I said THE WICKED WITCH OF THE WEST. I’m so sorry to trouble you. And it looks like a perfectly wonderful castle. Perhaps on the way back, if my travels take me this way.”

“Oh, well, she lives here, too,” said Liir. “With me. Don’t worry, she’s here.”

Dorothy looked a little pale. “She is?”

The Witch appeared at the doorway. “She is indeed, and here she is,” she said, and came down the steps at a clip, her skirts whirling, her broom hurrying to keep up. “Well, Chistery, you did good work! I’m glad to see all my efforts haven’t been for naught. You, Dorothy, Dorothy Gale, the one whose house had the nerve to make a crash landing on my sister!”

“Well, it wasn’t my house, in a legal sense, strictly speaking,” said Dorothy, “and in fact it hardly belonged much to Auntie Em and Uncle Henry, except for maybe a couple of windows and the chimney. I mean the Mechanics and Farmers First State Bank of Wichita holds the mortgage, so they’re the responsible parties. I mean if you need to be in touch with someone. They’re the bank that cares,” she explained.

The Witch felt suddenly, oddly calm. “It’s nothing to me who owns the house,” she said. “The fact is that my sister was alive before you arrived, and now she’s dead.”

“Oh, and I’m so very sorry about that,” said Dorothy nervously. “Really I am. I’d have done anything to avoid it. I know how terrible I’d feel if a house fell on Auntie Em. Once a board in the porch roof fell on her. She had a big bump on her head and sang hymns all afternoon, but by evening she was her old cranky self.”

Dorothy tucked her little dog under her arm and went up and took the Witch’s hands in hers. “Really I’m sorry,” she insisted. “It’s a terrible thing to lose someone. I lost my parents when I was small, and I remember.”

“Get off me,” said the Witch, “I hate false sentiment. It makes my skin crawl.”

But the girl held on, with a ragged sort of intensity, and said nothing, just waited.

“Let go, let go,” said the Witch.

“Were you close to your sister?” asked Dorothy.

“That’s not the point,” she snapped.

“Because I was very close to my Mama, and when she and Papa were lost at sea, I could hardly bear it.”

“Lost at sea, how do you mean,” said the Witch, detaching herself from the clinging child.

“They were on their way to visit my grandmama in the old country, because she was dying, and a storm came up and their ship went over and broke in half and sank to the bottom of the sea. And they drowned, every soul onboard.”

“Oh, so they had souls,” said the Witch, her mind recoiling at the image of a ship in all that water.

“And still do. That’s all they have left, I suspect.”

“Please will you not cling so. And come in for something to eat.”

“Come on, you too,” said the girl to the Lion, and it sulkily rolled onto its big padded paws and followed along.

So now we turn into a restaurant, thought the Witch darkly. What, shall I send a flying monkey down to Red Windmill to engage a violinist, for mood music? What a most peculiar murderer she is turning out to be.

The Witch began to think about how she might disarm the girl. It was hard to tell what her weapons were, except for that sort of inane good sense and emotional honesty.

During dinner Dorothy began to cry.

“What, she would have preferred the vegetables to the cheese?” said Nanny.

But the girl would not answer. She set both her hands on the scrubbed oaken tabletop, and her shoulders shook with grief. Liir longed to get up and wrap his arms around her. The Witch nodded grimly that he was to stay put. He whacked his milk mug hard on the table, in annoyance.

“It’s all very nice,” Dorothy said at last, sniffling, “but I am so worried for Uncle Henry and Auntie Em. Uncle Henry frets so when I’m just a wee bit late from the schoolhouse, and Auntie Em—well, she can be so cross when she’s upset!”

“All Aunties are cross,” said Liir.

“Eat up, for who knows when another meal will come your way,” said the Witch.

The girl tried to eat, but kept dissolving in tears. Eventually Liir began to tear up, too. The little dog, Toto, begged for scraps, which made the Witch think of her own losses. Killyjoy, who had been with her eight years, a fly-ridden corpse going stiff on the hill among all his progeny. She cared less about the bees and the crows, but Killyjoy was her special pet.

“Well, this is some party,” said Nanny. “I wonder if I should have prettied things up with a candle.”

“Kindle candle can dull,” said Chistery.

Nanny lit a candle and sang “Happy Birthday to You,” to make Dorothy feel better, but no one joined in.

Then silence fell. Only Nanny kept eating, finishing the cheese and starting on the candle. Liir was turning white and pink by turns, and Dorothy had begun to stare blankly at a knothole in the polished wood of the trestle table. The Witch scratched her fingers with her knife, and ran the blade along her forefinger softly, as if it were the feather of a pfenix.

“What’s going to happen to me,” said Dorothy, lapsing into a monotone. “I shouldn’t have come here.”

“Nanny, Liir,” said the Witch, “take yourselves off to the kitchen. Bring the Lion with you.”

“Is that old bag talking to me?” Nanny asked Liir. “Why’s the little girl crying, our food not good enough for her?”

“I’m not leaving Dorothy’s side!” said the Lion.

“Don’t I know you?” said the Witch in a low, even voice. “You were the cub they did experiments with in the science lab at Shiz long ago. You were terrified then and I spoke up for you. I’ll save you again if you behave.”

“I don’t want to be saved,” said the Lion petulantly.

“I know the feeling,” said the Witch. “But you can teach me something about Animals in the wild. Whether they revert, or how much. I take it you were raised in the wild. You can be of service. You can protect me when I go out of here with my Grimmerie, my book of magicks, my Malleus Maleficarum, my mesmerizing incunabulum, my codex of scarabee, fylfot and gammadion, my text thaumaturgical.”

The Lion roared, so suddenly they were all jolted in their seats, even Dorothy. “Thunder at night, devil’s delight,” observed Nanny, glancing out the window. “I better take in the laundry.”

“I’m bigger than you,” said the Lion to the Witch, “and I’m not letting Dorothy alone with you.”

The Witch swooped down and gathered the little dog in her arms. “Chistery, go dump this thing in the fishwell,” she said. Chistery looked dubious, but scampered away with Toto under his arm like a yapping furry loaf of bread.

“Oh no, save him, someone!” said Dorothy. The Witch shot out her hand and pinned her to the table, but the Lion had catapulted into the kitchen after the snow monkey and Toto.

“Liir, lock the kitchen door,” shouted the Witch. “Bar it so they can’t come back.”

“No, no,” cried Dorothy, “I’ll go with you, just don’t hurt Toto! He’s done nothing to you!” She turned to Liir, and said, “Please don’t let that monkey hurt my Toto. The Lion is useless, don’t trust him to save my little dog!”

“Do I take it we’ll have pudding by the fire?” said Nanny, looking up brightly. “It’s caramel custard.”

The Witch took Dorothy’s hand and began to lead her away. Liir suddenly leaped over and took hold of Dorothy’s other hand. “You old hag, let her alone,” he shouted.

“Liir, really, you pick the most awkward times to develop character,” said the Witch wearily, quietly. “Don’t embarrass yourself and me with this charade of courage.”

“I’ll be all right—just take care of Toto,” said Dorothy. “Oh Liir, take care of Toto, no matter what—please. He needs a home.”

Liir leaned over and kissed Dorothy, who fell against the wall in astonishment.

“Release me,” mumbled the Witch. “Whatever my faults, I don’t deserve this.”