“This Wizard is powerful enough to send people to other worlds?” Pete asked.
“He was,” the Munchkin said, nodding. “But I’m getting ahead of myself again. Dorothy and her friends traveled to the Emerald Palace, where they found the Wizard. He agreed to help them, but at a price: they had to kill the Wicked Witch of the West, too, who was the ruler of Winkie Country. She was just as cruel and evil as her sister, but Dorothy wasn’t afraid. And although the Wicked Witch of the West nearly enslaved her companions and killed Dorothy, in the final battle, Dorothy prevailed. When she’d killed the second Wicked Witch, she returned to the Emerald City and the Wizard was forced to keep his promise. He gave the Scarecrow, Lion, and Woodman their gifts, but he refused to send Dorothy back to the Other Place, saying he wanted to save his magic to go himself. He appointed the Scarecrow ruler in his place, and then he vanished.”
“He vanished?” Pete said. “Someone that powerful just . . . disappeared?”
Jasper shrugged. “No one has seen or heard of him since. Dorothy was able to return home with help from Glinda. The Scarecrow has ruled Oz ever since, although some of us think . . .” He trailed off as if he’d said too much again.
“Think what?” Pete prompted.
The Munchkin sighed. “That he’s not particularly suited to ruling Oz himself,” he said. “He’s not cruel, not like the witches. But he’s obsessed with book learning, to the detriment of Oz. He shuts himself up in the palace all day and ignores the concerns of his subjects. He’s obsessed with becoming more and more intelligent, not with being a good king.” He looked rueful. “Sorry—I’m always going on about politics. I’m sure you don’t care about all that.”
“I think it’s fascinating,” Pete said truthfully. “All the way out here—I suppose I’ve never thought about who rules Oz, or whether it matters.”
“I can’t imagine it does matter much to you,” the Munchkin said. “This place is so remote and isolated, there’s no reason for you to think about it. But everything in the rest of Oz feels as though it’s on the brink of something huge. With the witches dead and the Scarecrow oblivious, the future of Oz is up in the air.”
“Couldn’t the Wizard help? If he’s so powerful?”
“Like I said, no one knows where he is.”
“What if he’s still in the Emerald City?”
“I suppose he could be, but nobody’s seen him for years,” the Munchkin said dubiously. But Pete’s mind was racing ahead and he wasn’t paying attention to the Munchkin or his words.
This Dorothy had gone on a quest. She’d done things—meaningful things. She’d defeated tyrants and seen all of Oz. She’d had the kind of adventures Pete had always dreamed of but never known were actually possible. And at the end of it, she’d found a magician powerful enough to accomplish anything he wanted. Certainly powerful enough to set Pete free from Mombi’s clutches forever. Pete didn’t need courage or brains or heart—he had all of those in spades. All he wanted was freedom. And the Wizard, whoever he was, had the power to grant it—if he could only find him.
“How far is the Emerald City from here?” he asked, interrupting whatever Jasper was saying. Jasper raised an eyebrow.
“Far enough,” he said. “Unless you find the Road of Yellow Brick—and not everyone does. It’s a journey of several weeks, at least.”
“Can you tell me how to get there?”
“I’m going that way myself. It’s time for me to head back home, and the Emerald City is just past Munchkin Country.”
Pete stared at the stranger, his heart racing. Was Jasper inviting him to travel with him? His face was open and welcoming. That was exactly what he meant, Pete realized.
But Mombi would never let him go. There was no use. He had to find a different way to get to the city. He sighed in resignation, slumping back against the wall.
“I can make you a map,” the Munchkin said gently, reading the struggle on Pete’s face with an expert eye. “The city will always be there. You don’t have to travel with me to get there. And if you ever pass through Munchkin Country, I’ll owe you dinner and a place to sleep.”
“Thank you,” Pete said. “I—I hope I can do that.” He stared at the fire, unwilling to bring himself to look at Jasper’s face. In the morning, the Munchkin would leave, and Pete would never see him again. Who was Pete kidding? He’d never get out of these mountains. He’d never get away from Mombi. He’d never know this feeling again—the feeling that he was on the verge of making a true friend.
Jasper was already yawning. And soon, with a mumbled goodnight, he wrapped himself up in Pete’s blankets and drifted off to sleep before the fire. Pete was exhausted, too, after his difficult journey through the mountains, but he was much too wound up to sleep. Jasper was the first person he’d ever met close to his own age. And certainly the first person he’d ever met who made him feel this way—feverish and content all at the same time. He stared at the fire as the flames flickered and ebbed, leaving behind a nest of glowing coals. Finally, after hours of tossing and turning, he, too, fell asleep. His sleep was filled with restless and colorful dreams.
In the morning, Pete awoke to the clanking of pots. Jasper had found water—a spring toward the back of the cave that Pete had never seen run dry—and boiled it up for tea; he’d also made biscuits out of a dense, yellow cornmeal slathered in thick, creamy butter. He held a plate out to Pete, who took a biscuit and sank his teeth into the fluffy, buttery goodness.
“This is delicious,” Pete said excitedly through a mouthful of food, and Jasper laughed at him good-naturedly. Pete blushed, embarrassed, until he realized that Jasper was enjoying his enthusiasm, not mocking him.
“There is so much about this world that I don’t know,” Pete blurted between bites. “I guess a lot about myself, too. I haven’t met a lot of people my age,” he added quickly.
“The world’s not all happy, you know. These are strange times in Oz.”
Pete waited for Jasper to explain.
“I should tell you to stay up here in your safe little bubble with your Mombi, where you can’t ever get hurt. But Oz—the rest of Oz—it’s worth it. Even when your heart is broken, there can be magic just around the corner or in a cave at the top of the next mountain. You just have to keep looking for it. And sometimes you don’t even have to look. Sometimes it finds you.”
Pete opened his mouth to speak, but the words didn’t come. He felt the tiniest bit dizzy. He knew from Mombi that the right words strung together could effect change, but he was unfamiliar with the kind of spell Jasper was casting.
“Are you sure you don’t want to come with me?” Jasper asked, stowing his things away in his heavy pack. “The company would be awfully nice. It’s a long journey.”
Pete’s heart leapt up in his throat, but he knew what his answer would have to be. Mombi would find him easily, and she’d never let him go gallivanting off with a boy he’d just met to go to someplace as dangerous as the Emerald City. Or at least, he assumed the Emerald City was dangerous. Mombi had always made it sound that way.
They hiked out to the cave’s entrance. The blizzard had blown itself out in the night, and a fresh coat of snow sparkled white and pristine on the surface of the mountain. Pete couldn’t see another person for miles in any direction. He and Jasper might have been the only two people left in the entire world.
Stay with me, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t get the words out. And what if Jasper laughed at him? What had come over him anyway? Why was he so taken with the Munchkin?
When they reached the entrance, Jasper dug around in his pack for parchments and a pencil. He handed one piece of parchment and the pencil to Pete, who drew directions for how to find the pass through the mountain. Then Jasper squatted down on the ground, sketching out a rough map that he folded into quarters and handed to Pete. Pete tucked it away carefully in a pocket over his heart. “For finding your way to Munchkin Country,” Jasper said. “And me,” he added, looking Pete in the eyes. Pete
flushed a brilliant red. And, unexpectedly, Jasper flung his arms around him. Pete could feel his heartbeat pick up speed. He had never been hugged before. Mombi gave out lessons and lists of chores, but never hugs. Pete now knew what he was missing—and it was wonderful. He didn’t want to let Jasper go. “Take care,” Jasper said, his voice hoarse in Pete’s ear. “Come find me sometime.”
And then he was gone, bounding away down the mountain, one hand raised behind him as if in benediction.
Feeling more alone than he ever had in his life, Pete began the long trek back to Mombi’s cottage.
“Where have you been?” the old witch snapped when he pushed aside the heavy door. He knew better than to tell her about his meeting with the mysterious Munchkin. For some reason, Mombi was crazy about keeping him isolated from other people. She always sent him away when anyone arrived, and he was never introduced to new people. It was almost as though Mombi was ashamed of him, and wanted to keep him in hiding. She somehow managed to be wildly overprotective and completely indifferent to him at the same time. And her swings between ignoring him for days on end and paranoid insistence that he stay hidden in her crummy old cottage drove him up the wall.
“I was scouting for new firewood,” he said sullenly. “The usual places are picked clean. You’re the one who wants me to do all the work.”
Mombi glared at him, her wrinkly brow bunching up over her beetly eyes. “So I can do my work,” she said. “Which is some of the most important work in Oz right now.”
“You say stuff like that all the time,” Pete said boldly, “but I can’t tell if anything you do is important at all.” Pete had always kept his mouth shut before when Mombi lectured him, but he couldn’t help mouthing back this time. His encounter with the Munchkin had made him feel . . . different inside somehow. As if realizing that there was another world outside the one he lived in had set him free just a tiny bit.
It wasn’t just the world outside, he realized. It was Jasper.
Jasper made him braver. Jasper made him want to leave Mombi behind forever.
He braced himself, waiting for the tirade he knew was probably coming. But instead, to his surprise, Mombi heaved a long sigh and put down the spoon she was using to stir a disgusting-looking mixture in the cauldron that always hung over the fire.
“Come here,” she said with uncharacteristic gentleness. “I won’t bite, I promise.”
He eyed her warily but obeyed. And he was astonished when Mombi pulled him to her in an awkward hug.
“I know this isn’t an easy life for a—for a boy,” she said. As if she’d been about to call him something else—but that didn’t make any sense at all. “I’m sorry.”
Mombi was saying she was sorry? That had never happened, not once, in the entire time he’d lived with her.
“It’s all right,” he said. He didn’t know what he was reassuring her about, but she seemed genuinely worried.
“I made a promise to someone to protect you a long time ago. You’re in there somewhere. I know you are,” she whispered, looking deep into his eyes. As if she was searching for something there. And a flicker of disappointment crossed her face. Whatever she’d been looking for, she hadn’t found it.
“Who?” he asked eagerly. She never talked about his past. “My parents? Did you know them?”
Mombi shook her head. “I’m sorry, child. I know things here are difficult for you. But your safety is more important than you realize. I might have failed you already. . . .” she trailed off, looking impossibly sad. “It’s my job to keep you safe. I can’t tell you anything more, Pete. You have to trust me.”
Anger flooded through Pete. Trust her? When she spoke in riddles and would rather keep him locked up than let him see the world but refused to tell him why?
“Why should I trust you?” he asked angrily. “You don’t even trust me enough to tell me the truth.”
“I can’t,” she said.
“Why not?” he yelled. “You think I can’t handle it? You think I don’t want to know where I come from? What’s wrong with you?”
But she only shook her head tiredly, picking up her spoon again. “This will go nowhere, Pete. I’m sorry. Go to your room.”
He stared at her, burning with fury and hurt. She wasn’t going to tell him anything. Not one single thing. And she was sending him to his room as if he was a child.
“I hate you,” he snarled. He wanted to run out of the house and slam the door in her face. But Jasper would be long gone. All around Mombi’s house were just miles of wilderness that felt even emptier and lonelier now that he knew what he was missing. There was nowhere else to go.
He turned his back on Mombi, stomped into his room, and slammed the door. He made so much noise that he didn’t hear the faint whisper that followed him as Mombi stirred away at her pot.
I’m sorry. . . .
When he looked out the window, he could see a slick, purple web twirling around the house again and again.
She was locking them in.
Mombi didn’t unwind the web until Glinda’s sister, Glamora, paid Mombi a visit. Pete knew little about either of the sisters—he and Mombi received visitors only very rarely, and almost never did they have important ones.
Just as he expected, Mombi sent him to his room as soon as Glamora arrived, looking faintly alarmed, but Pete silently opened his door a crack and leaned against the jamb, listening carefully as the two witches chatted.
“What brings you this far to the north, Glamora?” Mombi asked, pouring the beautiful witch a cup of steaming bitterroot tea. Glamora took a sip and grimaced prettily.
“I don’t know how you drink that stuff,” she said in her low, musical voice.
“You didn’t answer my question,” Mombi said.
Glamora sighed. “Always it’s right to the point with you, isn’t it,” she said. It wasn’t a question. Mombi waited calmly and Glamora sighed again.
“It’s Glinda,” she said quietly. Mombi picked up a metal poker and stirred the fire.
“What about Glinda?”
“She’s hiding something from me, Mombi. Something important. Possibly something big. I think it has to do with the Wizard. Or with who’s ruling Oz.”
It was only because Pete had spent so many long years with Mombi that he immediately recognized the strain in her voice. “Ruling Oz?” she asked, keeping her voice casual, but there was no mistaking the tension underneath the words. Glamora, who didn’t know Mombi nearly so well as he did, only nodded, missing the witch’s sudden stillness. “I think she’s interfering with the succession,” Glamora said dramatically.
To Pete’s surprise, Mombi laughed. “Of all the silly ideas, Glamora! Why on earth would she do something like that?”
“I don’t know,” Glamora said petulantly. “But you know how power-hungry my sister is. You know what she’d do if she got her hands on any of the Wizard’s magic. She’s getting bolder and bolder—not even hiding what she’s doing. Without a clear heir to the throne to stop her . . .” She sighed. “It’s not good,” she finished.
“What do you want me to do about it?” Mombi asked gruffly.
“You’re nearly as strong as she is now,” Glamora said. “You could question her. Find out what she’s up to, what she wants.”
Mombi’s laugh was a harsh bark. “Find out what she wants? Are you serious? Glamora, you’re being paranoid and insane. Glinda doesn’t want anything at all except to eat strawberry ice cream in that confection of a palace and sleep with her stable boys. She’s harmless.”
She’s lying, Pete thought. Glamora seemed mollified, but he knew Mombi better than that. She was lying through her teeth. What was more, she was scared.
What was so bad about Glinda? Why was Mombi worried about her?
“I think that—” Mombi began, and then stopped. Pete strained to hear what she was saying. Why had she fallen silent? He pressed his ear up against the door even more tightly.
And then Mombi yanked it open and he tumbled ov
er into the hall.
“So,” the old witch said, her voice furious. “Eavesdropping, are we? Were you invited into this conversation, boy?”
Glamora had gotten up and was now peering over Mombi’s shoulder. “Goodness,” she said sweetly. “Who’s this? Where on earth did you come up with a child, Mombi?”
Mombi glanced over at Glamora, and Pete saw again that, to his shock, her eyes were suddenly full of fear. “Got him for the scullery,” she said curtly, turning her back on him and trundling her bulk toward the fire. “He’s harmless, but it’s good to keep an eye on the help, I find.” She shot Pete a murderous look. But the fear hadn’t left her eyes, and she kept looking back and forth between Glamora and Pete as if she’d done something she regretted. As if letting Glamora see him had been some kind of mistake.
Pete tamped down the angry flare of hurt and resentment. Mombi was mean, and old, and tiresome, and it was clear she didn’t want him to interact with Glamora. Was it because Glamora was pretty, and wise, and kind? Did Mombi think he was too ugly, too clumsy, too stupid and ill-read to impress the beautiful young witch? Shut up in his room, he seethed in hurt, outraged silence. Outside his door, he could hear the rise and fall of Mombi’s and Glamora’s voices. They’d be at it all night, he knew from experience. It would be hours before they did anything interesting.
And, he thought, it would be hours before they noticed he was gone. This was his chance. He had Jasper’s map. He could look for the Munchkin—and the Wizard. He knew Jasper had felt whatever connection ran between them, too. He just knew the Munchkin would be overjoyed to see him again. Jasper had invited him along on his travels, hadn’t he? He’d told Pete to come find him. Pete felt that strange, feverish sensation overtake him again. He definitely wanted to find Jasper again.
And Pete was sick of the old witch, sick of living in the cold miserable middle of nowhere, sick of runny noses and frozen toes and lonely hearts. Moving silently around his room, he packed a small satchel with belongings: a change of clothes, a notebook, the map Jasper had drawn him, a canteen for water. He unearthed his tiny stockpile of gold coins he’d pilfered from Mombi over the years from under the bed. He hurled the bag through his open window, letting it land silently on the cold snow before he climbed out after it. He dusted snow off his trousers and set out into the icy night without a backward glance at the cottage that was the only home he’d ever known.