Free Out of Oz: The Final Volume in the Wicked Years by Gregory Maguire Page B

doesn’t speak to us or anyone else, near as I can tel. So I can get no word out of him.”
    “This is intolerable.” She tried to summon Cherrystone, but the guard who seemed permanently stationed in the banquet hal replied, “He’s not at home, Mum.”
    “Of course he’s not at home,” she snapped. “His home is someplace else. This is my home. Where is he?”
    “Privileged information, I’m afraid, Mum.”
    “I’m not Mum to you, laddie. Address me as Lady Glinda or Lady Chuffrey. Who are you?”
    “Privileged information, Mum.”
    She almost hit him. But Cherrystone came swooping in, pretty as you please, through the kitchens. “I thought I heard your voice,” he said, like a husband returning from an afternoon shooting grouse. She almost felt he was going to swing across the room and plant a kiss on her cheek.
    “Traper. I need a word. Privately.”
    He shrugged. “As you know, privacy doesn’t do either of our reputations any good.”
    “This is war, Traper. Reputations be damned.”
    “As you wish.” He made a gesture and the Menacier skated away.
    She told him she wanted to know what was burning to the east. “Oh, that? It’s the cotton harvest, I’m afraid. The holdings between here and Zimmerstorm.” She gasped. “You must be mad. What has cotton ever done to you?”
    “Oh, very little. Cotton is blameless, I admit.”
    “What is the point? Just to deprive the farmers of their cash crop? They sel to mils in Gilikin, you must know that. You’l force up the price of cotton in Loyal Oz. That’s madness pure and simple.”
    “Maybe there was a population of bol weevils doing the nasty on that farm.”
    “I’l say. Are you trying to foment the farmers into attacking you here? The Battle of Mockbeggar Hal? Seriously. Traper. I want an explanation.” He raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d become the Good Witch of Munchkinland, Lady Glinda. They already have a pretender to the position of Eminence squatting up there in Colwen Grounds, I’m told.”
    “And I have friends in the neighborhood.”
    “Among cotton farmers? Please.”
    It was a stretch; she saw that. She tried again. “Those farmers supply you and me both with dairy and grain and who knows what else. You’re playing with fire, General. Rather literaly, I’m afraid.”
    “Wel.” He poured himself a smal portion of her brandy. Before lunch! He offered her a glass. She didn’t acknowledge his offer. “The truth is, the boys are antsy. Soldiers like to be on the move, and they’re going slightly stir-crazy. They need to be kept busy. A little burning of fields is a useful exercise. Gets them out and working.” She stared at him as if he were mad.
    He added, “You haven’t had sons, you wouldn’t get it. Soldiers like to destroy as wel as to build.”
    She was flummoxed. “If you’re going to be here for months, what wil you do—scorch the entire district?”
    “Maybe we’l take up lowland sports. Like hip-sprung dancing, the way the old ones do in the pub in Zimmerstorm. Or darts.” He was being amused by her consternation. “Or I could teach my men to speak Qua’ati, perhaps. By the way, your Rain made a creditable start at learning her letters this morning.”
    “I need a carriage.”
    “There’s nothing available today.”
    “You’l have to locate me one. I have an appointment. I’m leaving directly after luncheon.”
    “I can’t spare a driver.”
    “I’l have Puggles or Chef. They’l know how to manage a team.”
    She turned to leave as he was speaking. “Where is your appointment?”
    “East of the cotton fields,” she replied. “I haven’t decided the exact destination.”
    Somewhat to her surprise, when she descended the stairs in her wine-colored summer cloak with the musset panels, the front doors were open and the Menacier from the banquet hal was waiting. “The name is Zackers, Lady Glinda,” he said with crystaline politeness. “I have orders to accommodate you within