“Yes they jump, and they have sharp teeth, you ninny, and they like fat little boys,” said Manek. “Of course they don’t jump. Would I put you in danger like that if they did? Honestly, you don’t trust me at all, do you?” He sighed, as if disappointed beyond words, and when the cover slid all the way on instead of part way, he noted without surprise that Liir was too hurt to complain.
Manek hid under the stairs for a little while. When Nor didn’t come down he decided that behind the altar skirts of the old musty chapel would be an even better hiding place. “Be right back, Liir,” he hissed, but since Liir didn’t answer Manek guessed he was still nursing his grievances.
Sarima was taking a rare turn in the kitchen, concocting a stew out of limp vegetables from the keeping room. The sisters were having a dance recital amongst themselves in the music room overhead. “Sounds like a herd of elephants,” Sarima said, when Auntie Guest came wandering through, looking for something to snack on.
“I didn’t expect to see you here,” said Elphaba. “You know, I have a complaint to lodge against your children.”
“The sweet little vandals, what now,” Sarima said, stirring. “Have they been putting spiders in your bedsheets again?”
“I wouldn’t mind spiders. At least the crows could eat them. No, Sarima, the children rifle through my belongings, they tease Chistery unmercifully, and they will not listen when I talk to them. Can’t you do anything with them?”
“What’s to be done?” said Sarima. “Here, taste this rutabaga, is it gone to the dogs?”
“Even Killyjoy wouldn’t touch this,” decided Elphie. “You better stick with the carrots. I think those children are ungovernable, Sarima. Oughtn’t they be off to school?”
“Oh yes, in a better life they would be, but how can they?” said their mother placidly. “I’ve already told you that they’re sitting targets for ambitious Arjiki tribesmen. It’s bad enough even to let them run around on the slopes near Kiamo Ko in the summer, I never know when they’re going to be found, trussed, and bled like a pig, and brought home for burying. It’s the cost of widowhood, Auntie; we must do the best we can.”
“I was a good child,” Elphie said stoutly. “I took care of my little sister, who was horribly disfigured from birth. I obeyed my father, and my mother until she died. I tramped around as a missionary child and gave testimonials to the Unnamed God even though I was essentially faithless. I believed in obedience, and I don’t believe it hurt me.”
“Then what did hurt you?” asked Sarima wittily.
“You won’t listen,” said Elphie, “so I won’t even say. But for whatever reasons, your children are ungovernable. I disapprove of your lax ways.”
“Oh, children are good at heart,” Sarima said, intent on scraping carrots. “They are so innocent and gay. It cheers me up to see them dashing about the house in this game or that. All too soon these precious days will be past, dear Auntie, and then we will look back on when this house was filled with peals of childish laughter.”
“Fiendish laughter.”
“There is something inherently good about children,” said Sarima decidedly, warming to the subject. “You know that little Ozma, who all those years ago was deposed by the Wizard? They say that she is off someplace, frozen in a cave—perhaps even in the Kells, for all I know. She’s preserved in her childhood innocence because the Wizard hasn’t the courage to kill her. One day she’ll come back to rule Oz, and she’ll be the best and wisest sovereign we ever had, because of the wisdom of youth.”
“I’ve never believed in child saviors,” Elphaba said. “As far as I’m concerned, children are the ones who need saving.”
“You’re just cross because the children have such high spirits.”
“Your children are evil sprites,” Elphie said, in a snit.
“My children aren’t evil, nor were my sisters and I evil children.”
“Your children aren’t good,” said Elphie.
“Well, how do you judge Liir in this regard, then?”
“Oh, Liir,” Elphie said, and made an expression, and said pfaaaah, with her tongue and hands. Sarima was about to pursue this—a matter she had long been curious about—when Three came rushing into the kitchen.
“The passes below us must have melted sooner than usual,” she said, “for we have sighted a caravan struggling its way over the Locklimb Trail, coming from the north! It’ll be here by tomorrow!”
“Oh, rapture,” Sarima said, “and the castle such a mess! This always happens. Why don’t we learn? Quick, call the children and we’ll have to organize a scrub and polish. You never know, Auntie, it could be an honored guest. You have to be prepared.”
Manek and Nor and Irji came running from their game. Three told them the news, and they immediately had to dash up the highest tower to see what they could see through the slackening rain, and to wave aprons and handkerchiefs. Yes, there was a caravan, five or six skarks and a small wagon, pulling through the snow and the mud, having trouble fording this stream, stopping to mend a split wheel, stopping to feed the skarks! It was a wonderful treat, and all through the dinner meal of vegetable soup the children chattered away at the surprises they might find among the passengers in the caravan. “They’ve never stopped thinking their father is going to come back,” said Sarima under her breath to Elphaba. “This excitement is a hope for him, though they don’t remember it.”
“Where is Liir?” asked Four, “it’s a perfect waste of good soup when he doesn’t show up on time. He shan’t get any if he comes whining to me afterward. Children, where is Liir?”
“He was playing with us earlier. Maybe he fell asleep,” said Irji.
“Let’s go set a bonfire and smoke the travelers a hello,” said Manek, leaping from the table.
9
It was lunchtime when the skarks and the wagon began the final, difficult ascent up the slope to the castle portcullis and the gates of jasper and oak. The townspeople came out from their hovels and leaned their weight against the carriage, helping it through the ruts of mud and ice, until at last it turned in and crossed the open drawbridge. Elphaba, her curiosity as piqued as anyone else’s, stood with the Dowager Princess of
