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DM of
Oz 1 Episode 8 written by Gerry Original air date: |
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Disclaimer: The characters in the following fan
fiction do not belong to me. They belong to CBS and Viacom and other powers
that be. I am only using them for the purpose of writing this story. No money
is being made from this writing it is for entertainment purposes only. And
now on with the show... Summary: After working too
hard, Amanda finds herself a surprise visitor to Oz, and the number one
murder suspect in the death of the Wicked Witch of the East! Prologue Amanda Bentley relaxed
back against the sofa cushions, grateful for the opportunity to kick back and
relax while sharing one of her favorite movies with the boys. Although she
and C.J. had watched it before, Dion had never seen it, and she was getting a
real kick out of watching his reactions. He always tried to be so cool, but
the sudden shriveling away of the Wicked Witch's legs, leaving only the ruby
slippers, had made him jump anyway. Now he sat, pretending it hadn't startled
him, but riveted to the TV just the same. She took a sip of her iced
tea and stretched comfortably. She was soooo tired; it had been a long, hard
week, with more bodies than usual. Everyone had been a bit tense; even Mark
had been preoccupied, and Steve and Jesse had been downright cranky,
bickering about adding new items to the BBQ Bob's menu. Thank goodness for
the weekend! As she listened to the
familiar songs and dialogue, her thoughts drifted, and her eyes slowly
closed. . . Act I, Scene One The sunlight burned
Amanda's eyelids as she woke up. She sat up on her sofa and stretched.
"C.J., Dion, what time is it?" No answer. "Hello?" she
said looking around. The house was still and too quiet for her liking.
"Boys, this isn't funny anymore," she said, standing up preparatory
to pouncing upon her mischievous sons. Something didn't feel
right after she stood. All of her furniture was displaced, as if an
earthquake or tornado had ripped it apart. She got up and immediately went to
the front door, throwing it open, and stepped out into the familiar
fairy-tale land she had seen hundreds of times. "I don't think I'm in As Amanda walked out
farther, a mysterious bubble drifted down from the sky. The bubble splintered
on landing, forming into a person, and Amanda let out a yelp as she turned
and saw the stranger. "Who are you?" she asked shakily. "I'm Cheryl, the Good
Witch of the North." replied the other, who looked amazingly like Cheryl
Banks, Steve Sloan's partner. Amanda stared open-mouthed.
The spun-silk dress, and the magic wand, and the high crown were the same as
from her beloved movie, and the woman was wearing what had to be a wig of
long, loose, light-auburn curls, but the face was unmistakably Cheryl's. And
it was starting to look a tad concerned, as Amanda suddenly felt a little
dizzy and staggered. "Girl, you need to
sit down. You've obviously come a long way, and it looks like you had a rough
landing." Cheryl took her arm solicitously and led her over to something
that looked like a very large mushroom with red and white spots, settling her
down on it. She glanced around and clapped her hands. "Children! Some
refreshment for the lady!" Amanda continued to gape
as several small heads, followed by small people, suddenly popped out from
amongst the technicolor shrubbery everywhere. They had kewpie doll faces, and
little funny beards, and funny clothes ... "Munchkins!" she
exclaimed, only realizing what she had said after she had said it. And they promptly broke
out into song. Feeling slightly ridiculous, she sang along with them.
"'welcome you to Munchkinlaaaaand!" she warbled happily. After the initial start of
surprise that the stranger knew their song, the Munchkins sang with such
enthusiasm that a small contingent tried to break into "99 Bottles of
Sarsparilla on the Wall," before being roundly lambasted by the rest.
"We don't sing that until after dinner," one scolded. Amanda laughed, then
sobered as a disquieting thought crept into her mind. If this was
Munchkinland, then she was in Oz. And if she was in Oz, she had gotten there
... how. She glanced to her right ... nothing but more shrubs, houses which
by their size and fantastic design obviously belonged to Munchkins. Her eyes
slid to the left; more of the same. Reluctantly, she swiveled around on the
obliging mushroom, only to gasp in horror at the scene before her. There, at a somewhat crazy
tilt, sat her house. Two long, bony legs, clad in revolting white and red
striped tights, stuck out from underneath it at improbable angles. On the end
of each leg reposed a twinkling sapphire slipper. ("Wait a minute!"
Amanda cried. "They're supposed to be ruby slippers!" "So your
dream designer goofed. We got your basic All-American wicked witch," a
disembodied voice in her mind replied. She decided it might be wiser not to
be difficult, and subsided.) "Oh, my God,"
Amanda cried. She ran hastily into the house. "C.J.? Dion? Boys, where
are you? Come out right now, this is serious!" But the boys were nowhere
to be found, and she finally resigned herself to the fact that her first
impression had been right. Where she was, however, was another matter
entirely. She wandered back outside, and found the horde of Munchkins
clustered around the legs, pointing and whispering fearfully. Cheryl the Good
Witch stood nearby, smiling amiably at the little ones. Amanda marched up to her.
"So aren't you supposed to do something about those things, like make
them shrivel up or something?" Cheryl stared at her in a
rather bizarrely superior fashion. "That's so passé, don't you think?
Water works just as well." She pointed her wand at a large watering can
sitting near the house. "Help yourself." Amanda looked at Cheryl,
then the watering can, then back to the Good Witch again. "This wasn't
in the movie," she muttered, but she picked up the watering can and
sprinkled the sprawled legs, which obligingly crawled up themselves and
disappeared, leaving the sparkling blue shoes. The Munchkins uttered a series
of oohs and aahs and other assorted slightly musical noises, some of which
seemed to contain the words "ding," "dong," and
"dead," as well as some truly excruciatingly high-pitched
screeches. Amanda gave Cheryl another
look, and the Good Witch sighed. "Oh, all right. You
can have the shoes." With a flounce, she waved her wand at them, and at
Amanda, who found they fit like a dream. But the sparkling of her feet was
suddenly dimmed as a shadow blotted out the sun, and her new little pals
scurried for cover, moaning piteously. "You killed my
sister! You shall pay, Dorothy!" The voice, which sounded
like someone scraping the bottom of an old rusty bucket, came from above, and
Amanda craned her neck to see a scrawny, repulsively ugly woman riding on a
broomstick and brandishing her fist threateningly. This was better, Amanda
thought. At least this one was sticking to the story. She raised her voice so
the apparition could hear her. "I didn't kill your sister." She
started to add, "My house fell on her," but for some reason
she was reluctant to admit it. Something about the look in the old bat's eyes
said she knew more than she was willing to let on. "Yes, you did, you
miserable girl!" the witch hissed at her. "And I'm going to make
sure you pay for it! Even in Oz, murder doesn't go unpunished!" Cheryl spoke up. "The
Wicked Witch of the East is dead. You're not welcome here, so you might as
well get out of town." Amanda giggled. "Go
West, old hag!" The Good Witch shot her a
look. "Don't steal my lines, honey." She waved her wand menacingly
at the witch in the sky. "Don't make me come up there." The Wicked Witch of the
West, recognizing superior firepower when she saw it, snarled something
indistinct and flew off in a huff, grumbling to herself. Amanda glanced
upwards, where a tendril of smoke from the witch's exit still hung
threateningly in the sky. "No one's going to take her seriously, are
they?" Cheryl shrugged. "She
is a witch, even if she's seriously challenged in the looks and charm
departments." This was not good. Amanda
turned to Cheryl pleadingly. "Glinda - I mean Cheryl, I need to get
home. I don't know where my boys are, or if they're even all right. And what
am I going to do about that hideous old woman accusing me of killing her
sister?" Cheryl gave her a pitying
glance. "But, Dorothy, you know the way." Amanda eyed her warily.
"No, I don't. And my name's not Dorothy, it's Amanda." Cheryl smiled at her
warmly. "Of course it is. Dorothy -" "Amanda." "Amanda, then."
Cheryl pouted. "All you have to do is -" and she performed a
graceful flourish with her wand to point at Amanda's blue-shoed feet.
"Follow the orange brick road to ask the Magus for help." Orange? And ... Magus??
Amanda thought. That didn't sound right; wasn't it supposed to be ... "Follow the
orange brick road!" squeaked a Munchkin, sprouting up underfoot, and
making her jump. "Follow the orange brick road!" piped another,
appearing suddenly at her left side, with similar results. Munchkins began
popping up like jack-in-the-boxes, here, there, and everywhere, all exhorting
her to follow the orange brick road. In fact, shortly she heard a humming,
and then they all broke out into song. "Follow the orange
brick road! Follow the orange brick road! Follow, follow, follow -" Well, she knew this one
too at least. Sooner or later, she'd get to the end of this madness, but - it
might be kind of fun to sing the song and skip down the strangely different
bricks in the flashing sapphire slippers. Maybe she'd even get to meet -
well, you never knew. She linked arms with the two tallest Munchkins so she
only had to hunch over a little, and danced down the road, singing, as Cheryl
and the rest of the Munchkins waved goodbye. Act I, Scene Two Amanda followed the orange brick road as
instructed. "This is so eas-" she said, just as she reached a
four-way intersection. "Great. Why didn't I see this coming?" she
asked herself. "See what
coming?" a voice said. It sounded familiar. "Who said that?"
Amanda looked around her. "Up here," the
voice said. Slowly, she looked up,
thinking crazily that the voice sounded just like Mark's. There on a pole
lounged a scarecrow, Mark's familiar grin on its face. "Lost?" he
asked. "Yes, well, I mean, I
don't know ... I guess so. Do I know you?" she asked. "I don't know, I've
never seen you before. At least, I don't think I have. By the way, I'm
Mark." He tried to bow, but the pole kept him from getting very far, so
he flapped his hands at her instead. "Hi, I'm
Amanda." She walked closer to the scarecrow, peering at him closely. If
she squinted, he looked a lot like Mark! "Where you going?"
Mark asked. "To see the Wiz ... I
mean the Magus. See, I have a little predicament," Amanda said. The scarecrow cocked his
head to one side. "What kind of predicament?" As she took a deep
breath, he looked at her in alarm. "Is this going to be a long story?"
he asked. Amanda gave him a puzzled
look. "Uh ... I'm not sure." "Well, then, my dear
Amanda," Mark said, "would you be so kind as to help me get down
from this pole, and then I can sit and listen to you more comfortably." She thought about it, and
couldn't see any reason not to help him. "Okay," she replied, and
put her hands tentatively around his ribs, making him giggle a little, and
she jumped. "Scarecrows are ticklish?" she demanded. "Why not?" he
replied, still laughing. Amanda shrugged. It made
as much sense as everything else that had happened. "Okay." She
grabbed him more firmly, ignoring the giggling, and lifted him up enough so
he could fall off of the pole, which he did, flopping about for some time
before he collected his arms and legs sufficiently to settle properly on the
ground. She plunked herself down beside him and began. "I fell asleep, and I
was dreaming, and then apparently a tornado picked up my house and deposited
it here ... in Oz. And it fell on the Wicked Witch of the East. And I need to
get home to my sons, at least I hope that's where they are. And the Wicked
Witch of the West accused me of murdering her sister. And Glinda ... I mean
Cheryl ... the Good Witch told me to see the Wiz ... I mean the Magus, and to
follow the orange brick road, so here I am." He said nothing, staring
at her feet. "Her shoes!" he whispered, pointing. "You're
wearing the sapphire slippers! The only way those would come off her feet is
if she were dead!" He gave her a funny look and started to twitch his
lower half sideways away from her. Amanda glared at him.
"Don't be silly. I didn't kill her. Cheryl thinks the Magus will be able
to help me prove it. And, if you're really anything like my Mark, you'll help
me too." "*Your* Mark?"
the scarecrow asked curiously. She started to explain,
but realized that it would make even less sense than her explanation of why
she was wandering down the orange brick road. "Never mind. You don't
have to do anything for me." She got up and brushed herself off.
"Nice meeting you. I hope you are happy to be off of that pole." "Wait!" he
exclaimed, trying to get up, and finally holding out a hand pleadingly.
"Help me up, please, Amanda! I'd love to help you!" She looked down at him
dubiously, but relented when he gave her Mark Sloan's engaging grin at her
once more. "Okay. But you have to believe me when I say I didn't have
anything to do with that awful woman's death." He nodded so
enthusiastically that his head bobbed up and down alarmingly. "Okay, I
believe you." Amanda reached down and
took the scarecrow firmly by the arms, making sure she had a good grip on
him; she didn't want to find herself holding an unattached hand stuffed with
straw! It took a couple of minutes, as his footing was still a little shaky.
They bobbed this way, and leaned that way, and she almost dropped him once,
but finally he was more or less upright. "Which way?" he asked
brightly. Amanda pointed at the
orange brick road. "I was at that intersection when you called to
me." Hands on hips, she stared at the offending crossroads.
"Wouldn't you know there's no sign." The scarecrow thought for
a moment, then lifted an arm in one direction. "The Magus lives in the
Peridot City ... that way." He stopped and stared at his arm, then
raised the other. "No, that way." Another doubtful look, this time
at both arms, and he switched them, half wrapping one around his body in the
process. "Or maybe it's this ..." Amanda caught him as he
started to try to turn without remembering to lift his feet first, resulting
in precariously pretzeled legs. "Wait a minute, Mark. It's the Emerald
City, isn't it?" He grinned at her.
"Not here, it's not. 's Peridot." He chuckled at his involuntary
rhyme, and she suppressed an understandable urge to smack him. "Okay, smarty. So
which way is it, then?" she demanded. Mark crossed his eyes,
then got serious. "That way." Amanda sighed in
exasperation. He was pointing in the direction from which she had come.
Obviously she was going to have to simply make an inspired guess, so she
opted for the opposite road. "Let's try this way, Mark," she
declared, and started off. He fell in beside her,
humming to himself. "We're off to eat the gizzard ..." "Wait a minute,"
Amanda objected. "That's not right." He stared at her. "Of
course. Ummmm ... let me see." He gave an earnest imitation of a
scarecrow without a brain trying to think, then began snapping his fingers in
a rhythm that the startled Amanda identified as suspiciously close to rap. "We're off, we're
off, to see the Magus, we won't let anything try to drag us ..." Amanda winced.
"That's terrible!" He ignored her. "To
see *de M*, we're gonna prove it, down this road we're gonna move it..."
He started to bounce in time, and turned the brilliant goofy grin on her.
"Come on, Amanda, sing with me!" Amanda gave up. Without
even realizing she was doing it, she linked her arm in his and took one skip,
then another, until the two of them were dancing down the orange brick road. Act I, Scene Three After several minutes of
enthusiastic skipping, Amanda lost interest in violent exercise and slowed to
a more normal walk. The scarecrow didn't seem to miss a beat as he switched
from his impromptu rap to a story about one of the Magus' more famous
exploits, one she strongly suspected was pure fabrication. But she made
polite noises of paying attention, allowing her troubled thoughts to return
to the issue of the surviving Wicked Witch's accusation. Mark finally noticed
her distraction, and wheedled her into sharing. "Hmmm," he said
thoughtfully, as she finished. "If you had nothing to do with the
Witch's death ... ow!" He grinned at her forgivingly. "Just
kidding, Amanda! That punch really didn't hurt." "I didn't kill
her," Amanda growled. He nodded, or at least his
head flopped up and down. "I believe you. But then someone else had to
have done it. And was your house the true murder weapon, or was it dumped on
top of the Witch so that no one would be able to tell how she was really
killed? And who would benefit the most from her death?" Amanda made a face.
"The Munchkins certainly would, but I don't think the lot of them
combined would have enough nerve to do it, unless they sang her to
death." Mark gave her an odd look.
"They can hit some pretty high and piercing notes." "She wasn't made of
glass, was she?" Amanda asked with some irritation. "So unless she
died of exploded eardrums, I can't see that the Munchkins' singing would have
had anything to do with it. I was being facetious, for heaven's sake!" He sighed. "I
wouldn't know. I would if I had a brain -- and then I could figure it out for
you." He pulled at his head. "See? Straw. No brain." Amanda smiled at him
kindly; at least she knew where this conversation was going. "We're
going to see the Magus, aren't we? Maybe he can give you one." His eyes grew round.
"He could, couldn't he? He's the Magus; he can do anything!" He
began to burble to himself happily. She was distracted from
his answer by an eerie groan ... or maybe it was a whine ... or a squeal? As
she listened, puzzled, the strange metallic sound came again. Metallic ...
wait! she thought; could it be? She glanced to her left and saw a small house
at the edge of a wood. "I bet it is!" she exclaimed, and ran
towards the wood, wondering which one of her friends she was likely to meet
next. She wasn't disappointed. A
short distance into the wood, she saw a tall, broad-shouldered, silvery
figure standing frozen in a position which looked incredibly uncomfortable,
if not theoretically impossible. As she drew closer, she saw that the silver
was indeed metal (tin? she wondered), and that the face before her had the
same strong chin and dimples as Steve Sloan, her favorite police lieutenant.
Blue eyes blinked at her, and the mouth moved very slightly. "Urk,"
it said. Amanda stopped, confused.
"Urk?" she repeated. Maybe the body couldn't
move, but the eyes were extremely expressive. Right now, the look in them
indicated that he was convinced he was talking to a halfwit. "Urk!"
he said again, managing to give the syllable a little more intensity. The
eyes looked at her meaningfully, then slid in the direction of the house. Urk. Urk. This didn't fit
at all, the sounds were all wrong, she thought. But he was obviously locked
into place; and, if he was anything like her friend Steve, he was likely to
be highly displeased about it, much less about any delay in remedying the
situation. She plastered what she hoped was an encouraging look on her own
face and hurried into the house, hoping whatever it was that the metal man
wanted would be in plain sight. Actually, it was. On the
table by the door, practically wearing a sign that said "Pick ME!",
was an oilcan. "Urk," Amanda said wonderingly. Well, maybe he had
an accent or something. She hefted it experimentally; reassured by the weight
of its contents, she hurried back out to where he was waiting. "Mouth
first, I take it?" she inquired sweetly. The metal man made a
slightly huffy sound which hastily altered itself to something like
"Ees" when she started to turn away in annoyance. Amanda
administered a couple of drops to the joints of his mouth and waited while he
slowly opened his jaw, shut it again, and worked it slowly and cautiously up
and down. "Better?" she asked. "Yes, thank
you," Steve's voice said, making her jump, although she had been half
expecting it considering the way her day had been going so far. "Would
you mind doing something about this arm? I'm awfully tired of holding this
axe over my head." "Wouldn't you rather
I oiled the leg you're not standing on?" Amanda wanted to know, thinking
he looked like a lawn ornament, except he wasn't pink and he wasn't a
flamingo. He gave her a telling look, and she hurriedly complied with his
request, stepping back out of the way as he lowered the tool to the ground
with a sigh of relief. "That's better. I've
been holding that thing up in the air like a demented samurai for
years," he commented. He reached out and removed the oilcan from her
unresisting hand, starting to apply the oil to his body, moving each part
carefully until all of his joints began moving freely once more. "Thank
you," he declared, and bowed, or tried to; he hadn't taken his back into
account, and the return trip upwards was stopped rather rudely.
"Ow," he muttered as Amanda and Mark rushed to his rescue. Once
again, Amanda found herself trying to balance someone not exactly human until
he found his footing; then she grabbed the oilcan and applied it to all the
joints she could find, mumbling to herself. Mission accomplished, she
introduced herself. "My name's Amanda Bentley, and this is Mark the
Scarecrow. We're on our way to the Peridot City to see the Magus, so he can
solve the Wicked Witch's murder and send me home." "And give me a
brain," Mark added proudly. The metal man eyed them
suspiciously. "That's the craziest story I've heard in a long
time." "How would you
know?" Amanda retorted. "You've been stuck there for years, so you
couldn't possibly have heard much! And who are you, anyway?" "Just because I'm a
woodman and stick to my wood doesn't mean I don't know what's going on. And
my name's Steve. And the City's that way." He pointed towards the road,
and turned away. Amanda couldn't help
giggling. Rude though he was, his voice had the same testiness in it that her
Steve got when he was feeling grouchy. The scarecrow picked up on her
amusement and chuckled with her. The woodman turned around.
"What's so funny?" he demanded aggrievedly. "You sound just like
my friend Steve when he gets cranky," Amanda replied, trying not to
laugh and failing miserably. He gave her an irritated
look. "It's a little difficult to be all nice and sweet when you don't
have a heart, snookums. And with people telling you crazy stories about
murdering the Wicked Witch of the East." This was too much. "I
didn't kill her!" Amanda shouted. "She was under my house when I
walked out of it! For all I know, she was dead before it and I got
there!" She stopped for breath and glared at him. "And why the hell
... no, that's a silly question, forget I asked." "Why what?"
Steve demanded. Amanda considered the
silver face, obviously flustered despite its metallic state. "I was
going to say, why don't you go and ask the Magus for a heart, but obviously
he'd tell you to take a hike, you're so rude." He glared at her, and she
shrank back instinctively; then his face changed alarmingly. As she watched
in horror, a large tear welled up in the corner of one eye as he stared at
her in shock; he swiped at his face quickly and turned on his heel, walking
away. Something about the set of his shoulders told her she had said
something even more hurtful than she thought, and she ran after him.
"Steve, wait! Please ... I'm sorry if I hurt your feelings; wait!" He stopped, but continued
to present his back, and mumbled something. "What did you
say?" Amanda asked suspiciously. "I used to have one,
but it's gone." Oh. She'd forgotten how
the original Tin Man had acquired his metal body one piece at a time with the
help of an itinerant Magus. How awful, she thought, to have had a heart once,
but not to be able to feel the same emotions the same way again. (Certainly
would have solved the other Steve's relationship problems, that ironic voice
in her head commented; she hushed it firmly.) "I'm very sorry, Steve.
Really." And of course her mouth kept going, while the brain asked why:
"Why don't you come with us to see the Magus? You could ask him for a
heart. And I'm sure you could help us figure out who murdered the
Witch." His back was still turned,
but the shoulders were starting to relax. "You've got a scarecrow
already; why would you need me?" She smiled to herself.
"Because you're obviously strong, the way you handle that axe, so you'd
certainly be able to provide protection; and, I don't know if you noticed,
but the scarecrow doesn't exactly have a brain." Steve turned around
slowly. "Are you sure?" he asked reluctantly. Amanda nodded, and stared
in amazement at the incredible smile which spread across his face, the same
irresistibly attractive grin Steve Sloan turned on many an unsuspecting
woman. This really was too weird, she thought. When she got home, she was definitely
have to start either getting more sleep or -- drinking more. She realized
both men were staring at her with some concern, and grinned at them.
"Okay, fellas," she said, linking elbows with each one, "this
is how we do it here in Oz: We're ---- off to see de M of Oz ---" And
they were on the road once more, skipping down the orange bricks with
abandon. Act I, Scene Four They were still
gallivanting along when something that looked like the bottom end of a mop
darted out of the underbrush and planted itself in front of them. A shrill
yapping emanated from what might possibly be a head but was too hairy to tell
for sure. Amanda stopped and
squatted down. "Aren't you the cutest thing! C'mere, darling!" It shook itself, and
gradually one snapping black eye could be seen peering from the mop's head.
"Rrrrr?" it said questioningly. She held her arms out.
"Come on, I won't bite you." The animal, such as it
appeared to be, made a snap decision and launched itself into her arms with a
happy noise, wiggling furiously. Something pink and wet snaked out from the
hair and licked Amanda's nose, making her giggle. "Oh, for heaven's
sake," Steve said. "Is that supposed to be a dog? It looks like
something I'd clean the house with." Amanda glared at him.
"I think he's cute. And he obviously has good taste." The dog
confirmed her opinion by licking her nose again and growling at the woodman.
"See? He knows whom he likes best." She hugged the small creature.
"You need a name." Steve suggested
"Rat"; Amanda steadfastly ignored him. "Of course!" she
laughed. "Toto it is!" * * * They had been walking and
chatting for some time when yet another animal burst from the trees alongside
and leapt in front of them. This one, however, was considerably larger than
Toto; it was tawny, and had large, pointed teeth, as well as a long, waving
tail. And the noise it was making was considerably deeper than the small
dog's bark. "Grrrrrrrrr! Who
dares pass by the King of the Forrrrrrest?" Once over her immediate
startlement, Amanda realized its voice wasn't nearly as deep as she would
have expected. In fact, it was more of a tenor voice. And the mane ...
instead of curling all around its head, mostly stood up on top of it.
"Jesse?" she asked semi-hysterically. "Huh? How did you ---
I mean, Grrrrrrrr!" It waved furry arms and legs at them, and, after a
moment, its long, slightly mangy tail as well. There was a pause as the
three travelers contemplated the newcomer and he stared back at them. Toto
yapped, then made a huffy sound suspiciously like a snort of disgust.
Finally, Amanda took a wild guess and ventured, "Are you the Cowardly
Lion?" "I'm not
cowardly!" the lion declared stoutly. "I'm just ... cautious,
that's all." He attempted a fierce glare, which didn't quite go with the
natural kindness of his eyes. "I'm strong, and fierce, and the rrrrruler
of all I see!" He stopped and glanced at them nervously. "Aren't
you scared of me?" "No," Steve
replied bluntly, swinging his axe back and forth nonchalantly. The lion eyed the weapon
and its wielder, and edged backwards ever so slightly. "Not just a
little, eensy-weensy bit?" Amanda started to laugh.
"I'm sorry, Lion, but I'm afraid not. Even without Steve and his
axe." The lion scratched its
chin. "Hmmm. This isn't good. Not good at all. People are supposed to be
scared of lions. What's this world coming to?" He glared at them.
"What's the matter with you people anyway?" Amanda felt sorry for him.
"Well, Mark's a scarecrow, so there really isn't any reason for him to
be afraid of you, and, well, Steve already gave you his opinion...and I think
you're kind of cute, actually." The lion jumped.
"Cute?" he repeated in shock. "Lions aren't supposed to be
cute. Lions are supposed to be fearsome. Oh, dear." A big, fat tear
welled up in one eye and started to drip down his nose. "Some king of
the forrrrest I am. Can't even scare a - a little girrrrl. Thinks I'm ...
cute." He sat down on the ground and put his shaggy head in his paws. Amanda glanced at her
companions. Mark was smiling (of course, that was the expression painted on
his face, she thought), but his eyes were serious. Steve looked disgusted.
Toto had slipped out of her arms and was sniffing around the bigger animal's
toes. She sat down next to the lion. "Come on, Lion, it's not that bad.
I'm just not as little as you think. So you probably would be a lot more
frightening to the right people." "Hmmmpfh." He
didn't sound particularly convinced. "That's supposed to make me feel
better? *Probably*? And you don't have to keep calling me Lion. I do have a
name." "Not Mangy or
Cowardly?" Steve asked sarcastically. Amanda threw him a severe
look. "Steve, please. I'm sorry. My name is Amanda Bentley, and my
companions are Mark the Scarecrow and Steve the Tin Woodman. And of course
Toto. What's your name?" "Jesse," the
lion mumbled. "It rrrrreally is Jesse. I was just mad because you
weren't scared." Amanda stared at him for a
moment, then shrugged. Why this would surprise her at this point, she
couldn't imagine. "We're going to the Peridot City to see the Magus,"
she said gently. "Would you like to come along?" He started giggling
suddenly; Toto had undergone a change of heart, and was now licking the
lion's toes. Amanda scooped the small dog up in her arms and waited.
"Why are you going to see the Magus, Amanda?" Quickly, she explained
about her house, and her boys, and the mystery surrounding the Wicked Witch's
death, then threw in the clincher. "Mark and Steve are going to ask the
Magus for brains and a heart. Isn't there something you might like to ask for?"
she suggested. Jesse glanced sideways at
Mark's friendly face and Steve's suspicious one. "Well ... can you keep
a secret, Amanda?" She nodded. Encouraged, he
continued. "I'm really not as brrrrave as I'd like to be, or like people
to think. That's rrrreally not very good for a lion, especially the
Rrrrrruler of the Forrrrest. Do you suppose the Magus would give me some
courrrrrage?" Some what? "Bless
you," Amanda replied automatically, before her confused brain deleted a
few extraneous r's and made the connection, and she smiled. This one at least
should prove to be a little easier. "Of course, Jesse. He's a Magus,
after all. Does that mean you'll come with us?" The lion leapt to his feet
and bowed to her gallantly, then tucked his tail gracefully over one arm and
reached down a paw to help her up. "Absolutely, Amanda. And then I can
help you solve your mysterrry!" He did a little one-two skip, and she
joined him, beckoning the others to clasp arms along with them, and once more
they were off, a foursome this time, dancing down the orange brick rrrrroad
... sorry, road. [The Editor begs the Reader's forgiveness; We simply got
carried away by the Lion's ... er ... enthusiasm.] Act I, Scene Five To the west, in a castle
perched precariously ... actually, against all the laws of physics ... on a
craggy hill in the middle of a parched plain dotted with stubs of leafless
trees, the sole surviving Wicked Witch hunched over her crystal ball,
snarling to herself and foaming at the mouth as she watched the progress of
the odd little crew. She had to stop that interfering, much too attractive
newcomer before Dorothy/Amanda/whatever she called herself reached the
Peridot City and the Magus. If Himself found out what the Witch had been up
to, her goose would be well and truly cooked. She shuddered, imagining
herself as a scrawny, featherless, squawking fowl in a pointy hat heading
feet first for a boiling pot of water. Would she melt before she became a
holiday dinner? Would she...the Witch shook herself, refusing to follow that
weird little line of thought before it got any more inventive, and passed her
hand over the ball. "Show me their planned route ... and put a lid on
the pop-up ads!" There was a discreet cough
from her side, where the leader of the Flying Gerbils stood, looking bored
and irritated. Actually, he had looked cross since the day she got tired of
flying monkeys and transformed him and his entire crew into several different
varieties of animals before settling, a singularly unpleasant smile on her
repulsive visage, upon their present form. After all, just how fearsome can a
flying gerbil be? Not particularly aerodynamic, that was clear; the
unfortunate beasts had spent a lengthy time readjusting to their new
dimensions and body weights, with quite a few bumpy, not to mention
precipitate, landings, before getting the hang of it. "Why don't you
just send a spell, my queen?" She spared him a withering
look, although the fat ratty body didn't seem to be impressed and maintained
its lumpy state. "Once I know where they are, I will." She bent
over the crystal again and cackled. "How delightful! The Old Forest,
then the field of geraniums!" She reached for her mortar and pestle,
directing her reluctant lieutenant to bring her spellbook and various vile
ingredients. "First an encounter with the trees; and, if they succeed in
escaping, such fatigue once they approach the geraniums that they'll seek the
flowerbeds to rest, there to sleep....forever!" She gave a triumphant
chortle and slid an eye in his direction; obediently, the hapless gerbil
clapped his hands and jumped around for a little while, doing his best
imitation of a capering flying monkey with a few screws loose and wishing he
had moved to Kansas when he had the chance. Act II, Scene One Amanda peered doubtfully
down the glaring orange path. Only a few minutes before they had been
following it as it wended its cheerful way through lush fields, the
occasional annoying babble of a brook to be heard in the distance. Then the
road dipped slightly, and the abundant green of crops had altered, first to
scrub, then to thicket, as the bricks led straight into what looked like a
very dark forest. She shivered, remembering the cruel trees in the movie, and
glanced away, hoping she would see something else when she turned back. No such luck. The wood
still stood, and her companions were starting to give her questioning
glances. "Something
wrong?" Steve inquired testily. Amanda squared her
shoulders. What was wrong with her? After all, she had her Woodman and his
axe to deal with the trees, although that niggling little part of her brain
was disputing the wisdom of that plan. But there was no way to avoid the
wood, so ... "Nothing," she replied, then laid a cautionary hand on
his arm. "But I have a feeling about these trees, Steve. Please try not
to cut any of them unless you absolutely have to." He gave her a funny look.
"Why should I have to? The road runs right through, see? As long as
nobody gets off of it, we should be fine." This last was accompanied by
a glare at Toto, who had been happily gallivanting all over the place, and
Amanda scooped the little dog up in her arms defensively. "All right,
let's go. They're just trees, after all," she said bravely, hoping she
was right. Her statement almost
proved true. They had gone most of the way through the wood, and daylight
could be seen up ahead, when disaster struck. The Witch's spell finally
finished traveling (she was too cheap to go Oz Express), and seeped into the
trees. One of the gnarled oaks close to the road opened its eyes crossly,
having been rousted out of a truly enjoyable dream involving a wood nymph
(the details of which are better left unexplored!), and saw the Lion's tail
waving right in front of it. Groggy and cranky, the tree grabbed and yanked. Jesse had been humming his
song quietly to himself to keep up his courrrrage, and the next line came out
in a yelp. "Of the forrrrr--- Ow!" The light of battle in his eyes,
he swung around to face the presumptuous attacker, but was stopped short when
the tree refused to let go. "Hey! That's my tail, you overgrown piece of
shrubbery!" The tree gave him a nasty
look. "'Oo you callin' shrubbery?" It paused and cocked what
appeared to be its head as another tree whispered hastily to it, then
straightened and bowed. "Sorry. Wrong movie. Errumph. How dare you
address the Oldest Tree as shrubbery, you mangy excuse for a coat?" Amanda decided it would be
best to interfere before the combatants indulged in more name-calling.
"Excuse me, sir. We didn't mean to offend you." "And that axe isn't
offensive?" the tree inquired, gesturing at the Woodman, who had raised
his weapon to a position of readiness. The tree had a point.
"Uh, Steve," Amanda remonstrated, "would you mind lowering
your axe just a little bit?" He grumbled, and she glared at him.
"Please? Now?" "Oh, all right."
The axe drooped, but the muttering took a little longer to subside. She
waited patiently, then turned back to the tree. "We are traveling to the
Peridot City, to see the Magus, and beg your permission to continue our way
through your wood." The tree seemed to be
wavering in its ire; it yanked absently on the hapless Lion's tail as it
deliberated. Wisely, Jesse kept his mouth shut, although his furry fists
clenched in irritation. "We will let you pass on one condition." "What's that?"
Mark asked, ever curious. "The Wicked Witch of
the West came here recently and stole one of my limblings. You must promise
to persuade the Magus to retrieve it." "Why?" inquired
the irrepressible scarecrow, missing the sudden irate gleam in the tree's
eyes, and jumping hastily aside (and falling down in the process) as a branch
snapped out towards him. "Do not test my
patience any further!" the tree roared, waving its limbs around in
increasingly threatening patterns. "Your promise, and you may depart,
quickly! Otherwise we will crush you all!" No more questions, Amanda
told herself. Maybe the Magus would know why the Witch needed the branch. In
the meantime, it was high time to leave. "You have my word," she
promised, and grabbed one Scarecrow arm as Steve seized the other, and they
fled the wood with the laughter of the trees ringing in their ears. Once safely away, the
little band slowed so Amanda and the Lion could catch their breath. Steve was
still muttering. "Who talks like that, anyway? I ask you!" He shook
his head and hefted his axe. "One good whack, and he'd have been
creaking a different tune!" Amanda yawned. It was
catching, at least for the Lion and the little dog; pink tongues flapped for
a moment as beast and beast followed suit. Shaking herself, Amanda started
off down the path, hoping its color would keep her awake. "Come on, you
guys. Off to see the ... well, you know." Fatigue was starting to
set in, though, and the skipping wasn't up to its previous enthusiastic pace.
Amanda was starting to wonder how long she could go without a little rest,
when the road curved up and around, and they found themselves gazing at
fields of colorful flowers, stretching for as far as the eye could see. Oh,
no, she thought fearfully, not the poppies! She snagged the delighted Lion's
tail as he started to rush by her. "Wait, Jesse! Those are sleep
poppies!" He stopped and stared at
her incredulously. "These aren't poppies, Amanda, they're geraniums.
Even I know the difference." Obviously the demented
entity responsible for warping the story had struck again, Amanda mused.
Could she trust these flowers? Or were they about to take an involuntary nap?
And how could she be sure? An unlikely savior
presented himself. "Here, let me." Steve pushed by her, the little
dog struggling in his arms. "You three walk up the path as fast as you
can. I'll stay closest to the flowers; if Toto starts to drop off ... which
might be a blessing," he added as the dog tried to bite him, apparently
unfazed by the metal of his arm, "then we'll run." And if they couldn't pass
the fields before the soporific nature of the blooms overcame them? Amanda
wondered, but kept her mouth shut for the sake of peace. He'd just have to
carry her ... which might be rather fun actually. She grinned to herself and
started speedwalking, the rest of them chugging behind. She was rubbing her eyes,
but still managing to press on, the Lion staggering after with Mark's
support, as the flowerbeds started to diminish. Hope sprang, and subsided
with a mighty yawn; the last of the blooms were the most potent. Amanda put
down one foot, and picked up the other, which had grown noticeably heavier,
only to succumb in mid-step. Only the unintentional intervention of Jesse,
who had collapsed moments earlier, saved her as she plopped down on top of
him, fast asleep. "Oh, for crying out
loud!" Steve exploded. The combination of teary eyes and silly grin on
the puzzled Scarecrow's face didn't help. "Come on, Mark, help me drag
them down the road. At least out of the field they may be able to wake up
sooner." It was probably just as well that Amanda was deeply under, as
she definitely would not have appreciated being hauled up and flung
unceremoniously over the broad tin shoulder, much less being deposited with
minimally more care on the path once the landscape was clear. So much for
romanticism in fairy tales! |
