“You’re going to the city, too?” I asked.
Ollie nodded. “They say that the entrance to an underground tunnel is hidden somewhere in the city walls. The tunnel leads north, to where the rest of the Wingless Ones live. I’m going to find it.”
“There are others like you? Without wings?”
“Dorothy wanted to harness them,” Indigo snapped, her face suddenly red. “Make them her slaves. She wanted a thousand of them pulling her sicko flying monkey chariot. What else were they supposed to do?”
It was good to see her mad, actually. At least anger can get you somewhere. I liked this Indigo better than the Indigo I’d been sitting with on the rock an hour ago, the Indigo who seemed like she’d just given up. I liked this Indigo better than the one who had been so terrified that she’d wanted to leave Ollie strung up by the side of the road.
I just didn’t know what she was talking about. I looked at Ollie quizzically.
“My people have always been used by those who are more powerful,” he began to explain. “Even before Dorothy rose to power, we were slaves to others. It’s part of our enchantment. The wings are vulnerable to magic; they make us easy to control. When we were freed from the witches we thought we would never have to serve anyone again. But then Dorothy came back. This time, some of us decided that the price of freedom was worth paying.”
“So you cut off your wings,” I said. I couldn’t imagine that kind of sacrifice. I thought I understood it, though.
“I would rather be free than fly,” Ollie said firmly. “Not all of my people agreed.” A look of pure disgust crested his face. “The ones who would be free went north, into hiding.”
“Why are you here, then?” I asked. “Why aren’t you up north with them?”
“I couldn’t leave them.”
“Who?” I asked.
He looked at the ground. “My parents,” he said. “My sister. They thought their wings were what made them special. So they stayed behind. Now they pull Dorothy’s chariot. I thought I could help them. I thought I could convince them. . . .” He faltered, his voice breaking.
“I guess Dorothy must not have liked that plan,” I said.
Indigo was getting antsy. “We need to go,” she snapped. “We don’t have time for Oz History 101.”
There was still so much more I wanted to ask Ollie, but Indigo was right. If everything they were telling me about Dorothy was true, we were asking for trouble just sitting around like this.
“Can you make it?” I asked Ollie. “You still look pretty weak.”
But Indigo was already marching ahead of us, her boots stomping against the brick road. Ollie shrugged and he and I followed a few paces behind, moving as quickly as we could.
I was starting to get tired, not to mention hot. The sun, which had had an eerie, icy-blue tint to it back in Munchkin Country where I’d landed, was now a bright, fiery yellow, beating down on my skin. I could feel a bead of sweat forming at the base of my scalp.
The sun had changed colors; it had gotten hotter. But it hadn’t actually moved: it was still hanging in exactly the same place, dead center in the sky, that it had been when I’d set out on my way. It didn’t show any signs of budging.
“Is it just me, or has this day been really long?” I asked Ollie.
He groaned. “The day’s as long as Dorothy wants it to be,” he said. “She controls the time around here. Sometimes it’s ages before she remembers to turn the hands on the Great Clock and make it night again. The princess gets distracted easily.”
I shuddered. In addition to everything else, Dorothy controlled time itself. We kept walking.
The girl took us all by surprise when she appeared in the middle of the road out of nowhere, blocking our way. She had dark hair and flawless, ivory skin, and was dressed in a silk sheath dress in emerald green, setting off huge green eyes. She must have been about my age, and she was more beautiful than any girl I’d ever seen before. She also had way more bling: strapped to her head was a tall gold crown that burned in the endless afternoon sunlight. Her ears were covered by giant, jewel-encrusted poppies that looked like really fancy earmuffs.
As soon as they saw her, Indigo and Ollie dropped instantly to one knee. Indigo grabbed my arm and pulled me down with her.
“Dearest people of Munchkin Country!” The girl was talking to us as if she were addressing a huge audience, except there was no one else here. “I am pleased to announce this auspicious day for all of Oz! A day when sadness bids its final farewell and joy begins its eternal reign! By royal order, under punishment of death, I hereby declare Happiness henceforth!”
Indigo sighed in disgust and rose to her feet just as the girl was starting her speech all over again. It was like someone had set her on repeat. “Dearest people of Munchkin Country!” the girl cried again.
“It gets me every time,” Indigo muttered. “Just ignore her,” she said, noticing my confused expression. “Come on.”
“It’s not real,” Ollie explained, standing, too. “Just a recording. You come across them every now and then, to keep us in line. I bet it means we’re getting closer to the Emerald City, though.”
“Who is she?” I asked. “That’s not Dorothy. Is it?”
“It’s Ozma. Oz’s true ruler,” Indigo said. “She’s still technically in charge, but no one’s seen the real Ozma outside the palace in ages. It’s always just these illusion things. Look.”
She wound her arm up like a pitcher and went to slap the girl. Her hand passed easily through the princess’s head.
“See? Fake. The real Ozma doesn’t care about us anymore.”
“I am pleased to announce this auspicious day for all the people of Oz!” Ozma kept babbling.
Ollie looked away from the hologram like it hurt him to stare at her even a second longer, and then Indigo stepped right through her and we all just kept on walking. Ozma’s canned speech faded slowly away into the distance.
“We waited a long time for a ruler like her.” Ollie sighed. “She was supposed to be in charge all along—she’s descended from the fairy who gave Oz its magic. But she was just a baby when the Wizard came here, and he didn’t want her getting in his way. So he sent her off somewhere. Then, when he left, he made the Scarecrow the king. That didn’t go well.”
“The Scarecrow was evil, too? Like Dorothy?” I asked. I was having a hard time keeping track of all this, but something about it seemed important.
“No,” he said, and then chuckled ruefully to himself. “Not then at least. He just wasn’t a very good king.”
“He wanted to sit around the palace thinking all day,” Indigo cut in. “If you ask me, brains aren’t all they’re cracked up to be. Anyway, everything went to hell, until Ozma came back.”
“Where was she that whole time?”
“No one knows,” Ollie said. “She would never talk about it. But she has fairy blood, which meant she had a right to the crown. It’s deep magic—since she was finally of age, no one could do anything to take it away from her.”
“Dorothy did,” I pointed out.
“Not exactly,” Ollie said.
“Ozma was in charge for a long time,” Indigo said. “Things were good with her. The best. The sun rose and set on time. There was magic everywhere. . . .”
“The monkeys flew wherever they wanted while Ozma reigned,” Ollie interjected.
“It was what Oz was supposed to be all along,” Indigo said. “The funny part is that when Dorothy came back, everyone was happy at first. She was a hero, you know. And nothing changed for a while, except that she moved into the palace. She and Ozma became friends. They did everything together. No one even minded when Ozma made her a princess, too. It seemed like she deserved it.”
“And then?”
“Then came the Happiness Decree. After that, we stopped seeing so much of Ozma. It was, like, all Dorothy all the time. Ozma was just . . . gone.”