“Of course, Dorothy,” he said smoothly. “Your reputation as a formidable negotiator precedes you. I wouldn’t dream of trying to corner you into an agreement—I’ve overstepped myself. You know how it is when one is so used to dealing with inferiors. It’s been a long time since I encountered an equal.”
“Oh, I know all about that,” I agreed. “I’d be delighted, of course, to join you this evening. And now, if you’ll excuse me to my toilette . . . ?”
“But of course,” he said smoothly with an ironic little bow. He turned to the door. “For your safety,” he added over his shoulder, “I’d recommend you stay in your chamber until then.”
“For my safety,” I echoed sardonically.
But he’d already shut the door behind him—and as it slammed closed, I heard the unmistakable noise of a bolt sliding home. I wasn’t going anywhere until he decided to let me. For now, anyway.
And then it occurred to me: he might have apologized to me, but he’d neatly sidestepped the question of restoring my shoes’ power.
It seemed my status leaned significantly toward the “prisoner” side of the equation. But no matter; I was up for the challenge, and the Nome King was an intriguing—and attractive—opponent. Amy was so obvious. So tacky. And ultimately, so boring.
The Nome King was right. It was a treat to face an equal. Even if it was looking more and more like he might be my enemy.
But I’d conquered men before with a single bat of my magically enhanced eyelashes. Or a show of my devastating wit. And if that didn’t work, I could spell them into my arms. But my lashes were decidedly magic free right now. Still, I had my looks. If I couldn’t talk him into reactivating my shoes’ power, maybe I could trick him into it. And he’d be a lot more likely to miss whatever I could cook up if he was distracted by my ravishing beauty.
I yawned and stretched, and the sad little servant who’d accompanied the Nome King (did he even have a name?) scurried forward.
“Good morning, mistress,” it—she—whispered. Up close, she didn’t look any more impressive than she had when she’d accompanied the Nome King into my chamber. Her face was seamed with dozens of tiny wrinkles; dark eyes peered nervously out from under her heavy, pale brow. Her larva-white skull was dotted with sparse blond fuzz. Her black robe looked like a potato sack, although at least it was clean. If this was the best Ev could do in the service field, I was totally out.
I looked at her and decided something. The Nome King had a whole castle of servants, but none of them were likely loyal to him for any reason but fear. I had always had three allies at my side—Tin, Scare, and the Lion. I needed some new ones. The Munchkin didn’t know it yet, but she was going to be my new best friend.
“Who are you?” I asked imperiously.
“A gift to you, mistress, from His Highness,” she whispered.
“Well, obviously,” I said, rolling my eyes. “I mean, servant, what is your name?”
“Bupu, mistress.”
Even her name was ugly. I sighed, calling on all my reserves of patience and reminding myself that when in Rome, we do as the Romans do, at least until we can fiddle while the city burns. I would have to make the best of a bad situation.
“Are you truly a Munchkin? You don’t look like one.”
“Yes, mistress,” the little creature said, looking despondent.
“What happened to you?”
“The Nome King brought me here, mistress. And for a while I had to work in the tunnels. With the Diggers.” A shudder rolled through her.
“The Diggers? What are Diggers?”
“His Highness’s guards, mistress,” she whispered. That was definitely fear.
I sighed. If I was going to make Ev my temporary home, I needed to know what I was in for. This sad little creature was the only source I had. I patted the bed beside me. “Have some porridge,” I suggested. “And tell me everything I need to know about these . . . tunnels.”
Her eyes went huge and rabbity with terror. “I mustn’t touch mistress’s food.”
“I’m not going to punish you.” She was still frozen and staring at me. “I promise. When was the last time you ate?”
She made a weird convulsive movement with her shoulders, somewhere between a shrug and a nod. I filled an empty bowl from the tray and held it out. “I’m serious. Come on.”
Her hands were trembling as she reached out and slowly took the bowl. She was obviously expecting it to be some kind of trick. She actually flinched when she touched the bowl with her stubby little hands. I’m all for disciplining one’s staff—after all, the devil makes work for idle hands—but the poor creature seemed downright abused. I made a mental note and filed it away. She was obviously powerless, but she knew the palace better than I did—and she doubtless knew plenty more about the Nome King. If I got her to trust me, who knew what she might be able to do for me.
Bupu wolfed down the unappetizing stuff—at least someone was enjoying it—and didn’t put up a fuss when I refilled her bowl. When she’d cleaned up every last drop of porridge, she looked up at me, her eyes shining. “Mistress is very kind,” she said, and this time her voice was the tiniest bit stronger than her habitual whisper. I must admit I was touched. I am a kind mistress, but it so rarely gets acknowledged.
“Now it’s time for you to repay mistress,” I said briskly. Instantly, she shrank back in alarm, cowering at my feet. “Calm down, I’m not going to murder you. I just want to know a bit about the palace.” She’d gone mute with terror, staring at me with beseeching eyes. This was really going to take some patience. “Gossip?” I suggested. “How things work around here? Who’s in charge?”
“His Highness,” she babbled immediately. “His Highness, wisest of all kings, noblest of all rulers, bravest of all—”
“Noblest?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Of all?”
Her eyes got even bigger and she looked frantically around the room as though searching for a way out. “Noblest . . . of all . . . rulers who aren’t Dorothy,” she finished miserably. I smiled. That was better. But really, the poor thing couldn’t help herself. She’d clearly been terrorized. I wasn’t going to blame her for not acknowledging my obvious superiority. Perhaps the journey from Oz had addled her head somewhat. Something had happened to her in Ev, that was for sure. She was the most decrepit-looking Munchkin I’d ever seen.
“Look, I’m not going to tear you limb from limb for skipping the standard company intro,” I said impatiently. “I know the Nome King is the king. It’s in his name. I want to know the rest. The good stuff. How the behind the scenes works.” I hit on a flash of inspiration. “So I can best please His Majesty this afternoon when I meet with him,” I said. “Bupu, I’m just so nervous. The king is so powerful and strong. What will I do if you don’t help me?”
To my relief, that worked. I wasn’t sure how much more nonsense I could come up with. She nodded eagerly. “I understand now, mistress,” she said, her voice a little firmer again. I settled against the pillows. Maybe Bupu could scrounge up some nail polish once she was done filling me in on the palace intrigue.
I wasn’t going to hold my breath.
Once she got going—and reassured herself that I really wasn’t going to smack her around for talking—she seemed to enjoy herself as she explained the intricacies of the palace hierarchy.
According to Bupu, she wasn’t the only Munchkin the Nome King had kidnapped—he preferred them for his household staff. (Interesting.) They were overseen by a senior Munchkin named Esmerelda. Bupu’s tone suggested she didn’t think much of this Esmerelda character, but she didn’t comment. The cave trolls, who were bigger, stronger, and most likely dumber, although Bupu didn’t say so, did various labor-intensive tasks, like widening the tunnels, forging weapons, hauling stone and coal, and stoking the huge forges. And the Diggers . . . Bupu trailed off when she got to them, her lower lip trembling.
“The Diggers . . . dig?” I prompted. She nodded mutely. “As well as?” Her shoulders were
crawling up her ears again as if she was trying to make herself as small and as invisible as possible.
“Hurt people,” she said miserably.
The Diggers must be the Nome King’s soldiers with the strange lights in their foreheads. How did he control them? Could they use magic? Were they Nomes, like him, or some other kind of creature? But when I pressed her, she only shook her head, her eyes wild, so I left it alone. I’d have plenty of time to do more research. Now it was time to get dressed.
“You must help me select my court dress,” I said imperiously. Another look of terror flitted across her face. “Let me guess,” I sighed. “Not a lot of noble ladies in Ev? You’re wildly underqualified for the position of lady’s handmaid?”
She stared at me with her big, uncomprehending frog eyes. Not a problem. I’d worked with rough clay before. Give me a couple of days with her, and I’d turn her into the Ming vase of ladies-in-waiting.
“Okay, I’m going to explain how this works,” I said. “But first, let’s get you something better than that awful sack.” I hopped out of bed—and then gasped out loud when my feet hit the softly carpeted stone floor
Despite the nice nap, I was a mess. My body was bruised and battered. Every part of me ached. It turns out having a palace fall on you is pretty rough on your general health and well-being.
Bupu was at my side immediately, crying “Mistress! Mistress!” in distress. I waved her off.
“I’m fine,” I said through gritted teeth, although I had no idea if that was true. The truth was, I could barely even stand up.
“How will mistress be able to walk for the wedding?” Bupu blurted, staring at me. And then she clapped her hands over her mouth and stared at me in horror, her eyes wide.
“Bupu,” I said. “What wedding are you talking about, exactly?”
Bupu’s eyes filled with tears. “I wasn’t supposed to say anything,” she whispered. “It’s not my job to say things. It’s my job to watch over you and . . . and . . .” She burst into sobs.
“And . . . ?” I prompted. And then I realized. Of course. “And tell the Nome King what I’m up to?”
She nodded mutely. “Please don’t tell,” she said. “He’ll skin me. He said he’ll have the Diggers sk-sk-skin me alive and they’ll do it, too, they will, they’ve done it before!” she babbled, tugging at my hand beseechingly.
“Of course I won’t tell on you, darling,” I said, my mind racing.
It would be easy enough to feed her information to take back to the Nome King. If I could win her over, I could use her as a double agent. Slowly, the beginnings of a plan began to take shape in my head.
But first, I needed my shoes working again. And more information.
“Bupu, you must be very strong,” I said gently. Her shoulders squared up immediately and she looked into my eyes. “I will protect you from the Diggers, I promise. But you have to tell me everything. All right?”
She nodded again, her eyes huge.
“What wedding are you talking about, Bupu? What wedding am I supposed to attend?”
She cocked her head.
“Yours, mistress,” she said.
SIX
Nox, Madison, and I didn’t have long to wait. At the far end of the courtyard, a section of wall swung inward. It was a door, I realized, effectively camouflaged by being indistinguishable from the stone walls around it. We exchanged nervous glances.
“So, what’s the deal with this chick?” I asked Nox.
“To be honest, I wasn’t ever sure she was real,” Nox said. “We started hearing stories about her right before you showed up in Oz. But like everything in Ev, it’s impossible to say what’s true and what’s just some crazy story. It’s not like we have a passenger pigeon service across the Deadly Desert.”
“But it’s possible to cross, or you wouldn’t have heard anything.”
“Mombi—” He paused for a second, conflicting emotions battling for supremacy on his face. “There are . . . spells. It’s been done at least once.”
He wouldn’t meet my eyes; he was being deliberately vague. I fought back the urge to hit him. He was always going to be Nox, no matter how I felt about him: refusing to tell me everything until he decided it was time for me to know the whole truth.
“Okay,” I said, keeping my voice even. “And obviously the Nome King can go back and forth. That still doesn’t cover who Langwidere is.”
“Honestly, I’m not sure you want to know,” Nox said.
“We’re about to go face this bitch in there,” Madison interrupted, jabbing her finger at the yawning black doorway, “and homeslice over here is holding back because he thinks his information is too ‘scary stories to tell in the dark’ for the girls to handle? In case you missed the memo, we’re going to find out the truth in about T minus five, so maybe tell us what you know?”
Nox looked at her, startled. Despite the seriousness of our predicament, I had to resist the urge to laugh. Madison clearly had no use for Nox’s pretty-boy mystery act.
He shot an apprehensive look at the open doorway and then said, “Supposedly she’s into wearing people’s heads. She has a . . . collection. Nobody knows what she really looks like.”
“Oh,” I said. Okay, that was pretty gross.
Incredibly, Madison rolled her eyes in disdain. “That’s so Silence of the Lambs it can’t possibly be real,” she said. “Somebody plagiarized that plot point just to scare you. I don’t believe it for a second.”
“I’m pretty sure they don’t have Anthony Hopkins in Oz,” I pointed out.
“I’m trying to keep our spirits up. Can you work with me?” Madison snapped.
“Right,” I said. “Sorry. So, our options are stay in the courtyard with no food and no water in the middle of a desert and die of dehydration shortly if we don’t sunburn to a fiery crisp, or go into Scary Princess Palace and meet an unknown, potentially very gruesome fate with no weapons and possibly no magic.”
Nox thought for a minute. “We could wait to see if the Wheelers come back,” he offered.
“Please tell me this isn’t really happening,” Madison said to the sky. “Someone? Are you there, God? It’s me, Madison.”
“I know,” I said sympathetically. “It’s not . . . ideal.”
“Ideal?” Madison snorted. “I’m still not convinced I didn’t accidentally smoke some really bunk weed. Not that I would do that. I am a mother now. But if this is real”—she waved a hand at the creepy courtyard—“we might as well get this part over with, right? Plus, I’m about to drop dead of heatstroke.”
“Ladies first,” Nox said, ushering me forward with the ghost of a smile.
At that, I did sock him in the shoulder, and he flashed me a real grin that made my knees weak. It felt like ten years ago that I’d been kissing him in the Emerald Palace and a flush of heat that had nothing to do with the scorching sunlight rose to my cheeks. He took my hand and squeezed it.
“We got this,” I told him, with more confidence than I felt. “It can’t be as bad as the Scarecrow’s lab.”
“It could be worse,” Nox said cheerfully.
“Thanks for the encouragement,” I said, but I was smiling as we walked toward the doorway. Whatever was waiting for us, we were going to face it together.
Madison was right: the cool, dark corridor might be leading us to our doom, but after the hellish journey across the desert, being out of the sun was a blissful relief. If we got out of here alive, I was never going to take shade for granted again.
I stood blinking for a moment, allowing my eyes to adjust to the sudden change in light. As I got used to the dim corridor, I was able to pick out elaborate, carved murals in the stone walls. Dropping Nox’s hand, I stopped to look closer.
They were the stuff of nightmares: multi-limbed demons with white blubbery skin that reminded me of dolphins and oversize heads with bulging black eyes tearing people apart, monsters with three or four or five heads wolfing down human flesh, helpless humans boiling in va
ts of oil or being tormented on any number of awful devices. Most of the people seemed to be missing their heads, which were carried around instead by the monsters: monsters bowled with them, made necklaces out of them, lounged in huge thrones made of grinning skulls. . . .
“Someone’s into Eli Roth,” Madison said drily next to me. I raised an eyebrow. “If I’m not being a smartass, I’m going to start screaming my head off,” she said. “I’m assuming you prefer me being a smartass.”
“Yes,” Nox said from up ahead of us. “Definitely go with the smartass route, please. Can we get a move on?”
“Right,” I said. We’d have to face this mysterious Princess Langwidere sooner or later; might as well get it over with now. Without another word, I followed him down the hallway, doing my best to ignore the Saw V scenery. Madison was a few steps behind me.
The hallway wound up, down, and around. Here and there it was lit with torches that burned with a sickly greenish flame that gave off no heat at all—but when Madison reached out curiously to touch one, she yanked her hand back with a yelp of pain.
“It burned me,” she said, staring at the cold green fire. “But not like fire. I think it, like, frostbit me.”
The light was just enough to make our way by, although in places it created looming, flickering shadows that moved ominously toward us, until I was jumpy and paranoid, sure that at any moment something was going to leap out of the dark at us and tear us to shreds.
Sometimes we passed huge rooms: a banquet hall with a vaulted, gilt ceiling, curlicues of gold spinning down the walls in the shape of vines and thorns; a narrow stone table long enough to seat dozens of people; high-backed wooden chairs carved in more elaborate, twisted patterns. Rooms that looked like salons, with sofas covered in black velvet and more gilt, or bedrooms furnished with looming black wardrobes and shadowy figures that startled me into frightened silence before I realized they were just our own reflections peering back at us out of tall, ornate mirrors. Every room was deserted.