Read Online Out of Oz: The Final Volume in the Wicked Years by Gregory Maguire - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Gregory Maguire
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memory of Sir Chuffrey if I didn’t ask what your ultimate intentions are toward Mockbeggar. I do hope you have no plans to raze it.”
“That wouldn’t be a decision of mine, though I think no one in the Emerald City would bother this place much. I see that it is a jewel. In these few days I’ve come to appreciate why you love it so.”
“Were I at the helm of strategy, I should think that securing Restwater as a permanent source of potable water for the Emerald City would be enough. I’m wondering, should that happen, if you intend Mockbeggar to serve as a satelite capital of the EC, and might decide to leave the rest of the Free State of Munchkinland alone? Munchkinland covers a vast territory, and though decidedly rural, it’s more evenly populated than the rest of Oz, which by comparison is either urban or hardscrabble and too remote to be habitable. The attempt to subdue al of Munchkinland would be punishing.”
“You have a good head for strategy, Lady Glinda, as befits a former Throne Minister. But you retired to seek other pleasures. Like gentlewoman farming, and flower arranging. So I shouldn’t fret about the future. What wil happen wil happen.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m too selfish to care primarily about Munchkinland. What happens to the stucco wals of Mockbeggar and to its staff also happens to me. What happens to Mockbeggar’s irises and prettibels happens to me. You think me shalow, but I have been breeding prettibels for eighteen summers now. It is my passion. I have a new variety that was even written about in our local newssheet, Restwater Dew Tell .” This was partly true. The gardener had been doing something with that ugly little orange flower. “Rain, can you slip into my library and find a copy of the newsfold with the article on prettibels?”
The girl said, “I don’t know how to find it.”
“It is a printed journal. It wil say ‘Prettibels Galore’ in the headline, or something like that. Get up when I speak to you.” She stood, but shrugged. “I don’t know how to read, Mum.”
“I can find it,” caled Miss Murth.
“She’l do it,” said Glinda tartly. “Child, there is an engraving on the page just under the masthead. You do know what a prettibel looks like, don’t you? A blossom like a kind of grubby little chewed sock?” Cherrystone was laughing. “They are your passion. You speak with the sour affection of the convert.”
“Do as I say, Rain.” Glinda felt herself flushing and hoped it didn’t show in the lamplight. “I tel you, Traper, you abuse my ability to entertain when you reduce me to such a staff.”
“Your prettibels wil likely suffer this year,” he admitted. “Sorry about that. Where are they in the garden, so we can avoid them?” He almost had her there. “I can’t discuss it any longer. It’s too vexing to think of them in extremis. There’s a dormant polder of them out beyond the little vilage of Zimmerstorm. Won’t you alow Puggles to escort me to check on them?” There was no such polder. But if she could get out for a day on a false pretense, she might gain a better sense of what was going on.
“It may be possible. Depending.”
Rain clambered back over the sil with several papers. “Not sure which one you want, so here is the lot.”
“I don’t want to look at them anymore. I’ve become distressed by the thought of them. You may return these.”
“No, wait,” said Cherrystone. He took several papers from Rain and studied the headlines. Then he turned the front page so the girl could see it and said, “Do you know your letters?”
“No, sir. I don’t, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Never had none to teach me, sir.”
“Your mother doesn’t know how to read?”
“If you remember, Cherrystone,” said Glinda, “you required me to dismiss almost everyone.”
“You kept a girl from leaving with her mother?”
“Wel. Actualy, the child is an orphan. I look after her out of charity. Don’t pick your
“That wouldn’t be a decision of mine, though I think no one in the Emerald City would bother this place much. I see that it is a jewel. In these few days I’ve come to appreciate why you love it so.”
“Were I at the helm of strategy, I should think that securing Restwater as a permanent source of potable water for the Emerald City would be enough. I’m wondering, should that happen, if you intend Mockbeggar to serve as a satelite capital of the EC, and might decide to leave the rest of the Free State of Munchkinland alone? Munchkinland covers a vast territory, and though decidedly rural, it’s more evenly populated than the rest of Oz, which by comparison is either urban or hardscrabble and too remote to be habitable. The attempt to subdue al of Munchkinland would be punishing.”
“You have a good head for strategy, Lady Glinda, as befits a former Throne Minister. But you retired to seek other pleasures. Like gentlewoman farming, and flower arranging. So I shouldn’t fret about the future. What wil happen wil happen.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I’m too selfish to care primarily about Munchkinland. What happens to the stucco wals of Mockbeggar and to its staff also happens to me. What happens to Mockbeggar’s irises and prettibels happens to me. You think me shalow, but I have been breeding prettibels for eighteen summers now. It is my passion. I have a new variety that was even written about in our local newssheet, Restwater Dew Tell .” This was partly true. The gardener had been doing something with that ugly little orange flower. “Rain, can you slip into my library and find a copy of the newsfold with the article on prettibels?”
The girl said, “I don’t know how to find it.”
“It is a printed journal. It wil say ‘Prettibels Galore’ in the headline, or something like that. Get up when I speak to you.” She stood, but shrugged. “I don’t know how to read, Mum.”
“I can find it,” caled Miss Murth.
“She’l do it,” said Glinda tartly. “Child, there is an engraving on the page just under the masthead. You do know what a prettibel looks like, don’t you? A blossom like a kind of grubby little chewed sock?” Cherrystone was laughing. “They are your passion. You speak with the sour affection of the convert.”
“Do as I say, Rain.” Glinda felt herself flushing and hoped it didn’t show in the lamplight. “I tel you, Traper, you abuse my ability to entertain when you reduce me to such a staff.”
“Your prettibels wil likely suffer this year,” he admitted. “Sorry about that. Where are they in the garden, so we can avoid them?” He almost had her there. “I can’t discuss it any longer. It’s too vexing to think of them in extremis. There’s a dormant polder of them out beyond the little vilage of Zimmerstorm. Won’t you alow Puggles to escort me to check on them?” There was no such polder. But if she could get out for a day on a false pretense, she might gain a better sense of what was going on.
“It may be possible. Depending.”
Rain clambered back over the sil with several papers. “Not sure which one you want, so here is the lot.”
“I don’t want to look at them anymore. I’ve become distressed by the thought of them. You may return these.”
“No, wait,” said Cherrystone. He took several papers from Rain and studied the headlines. Then he turned the front page so the girl could see it and said, “Do you know your letters?”
“No, sir. I don’t, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Never had none to teach me, sir.”
“Your mother doesn’t know how to read?”
“If you remember, Cherrystone,” said Glinda, “you required me to dismiss almost everyone.”
“You kept a girl from leaving with her mother?”
“Wel. Actualy, the child is an orphan. I look after her out of charity. Don’t pick your
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