Free A Lion Among Men by Gregory Maguire Page A

ghosts bugs?” whispered Brrr.
    “Who knows? Next time you squash a roach, you might be doing in old Auntie Groyleen again. Or maybe bugs are the largest part of life without individual character, so they’re useful vessels for ghosts. I have a theory-”
    All at once, words were spoken in the clearing. It was like the echo of a sound divorced from its original imprint. The Ozmists spoke in one voice.
    Barter, said the chorus ominously.
    “‘Barter’?” whispered Brrr. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “Another word for chat, I think,” Cubbins replied. “I’m guessing they will tell you what you want if you tell them what they want.”
    “Is this more advice from Ursaless?”
    “Common sense. Which as you know doesn’t come from Ursaless. Shhh, let’s find out what they want.”
    Brrr cleared his throat. “All right, then,” he started. “As long as you have granted me an audience, I would like to ask about the possible ghost of a Lion or Lioness who might have joined your, um, ranks. Or even a whole pride of Lions. Not just any spare Lions, but mine. My kin.”
    When a certain velocity had been reached, the Ozmists trained their vibrations nearer to a common key, if not a single note. They managed to communicate a message in some fashion that was neither words nor music, quite. Still, the Lion and the Bear cub listened closely.
    We note your query, they managed to communicate. By way of payment: You tell us first-Is the dreadful Wizard still on the throne of Oz?
    “You should know more than I do,” said Brrr, playing for time. How embarrassing to be asked a question he couldn’t answer. “You’re ghosts, after all: you’re spirit and transcendence. I’m just plodding along with my nose to the ground here, wet behind the ears and a long way to go.”
    We have no more experience of the future than the living do, they said, but their voices went out of keen registration, and it sounded like hundreds of voices intoning the same thought at once. W-w-w-e-e-e ha-v-v-ve n-n-n-o-o-o mor-r-r-r experienshchshe…
    “And you hunger for future history,” said Brrr.
    This day you live in today is the impossible future to us, said the Ozmists. Is the Wizard still squatting upon the throne? We crave to know the future.
    “All well and good,” said Brrr, “and what I know, I will share gladly. I recently met some soldiers in the forest-one special soldier particularly-serving in the forces of the great and powerful Wizard of Oz. So I can answer that much, if not more: The Wizard of Oz is on the throne of Oz. Do I get an answer in reply? Are fragments of my ancestors figured among your midst?”
    The Ozmists glowed, small cyclings in place. We stir, we steep, we sift, we shift among ourselves for clues to your question, they said.
    Brrr waited. They said no more.
    “Are they taking inventory?” whispered Cubbins.
    “I don’t know.”
    “Well, tell me this, then,” went on Cubbins excitedly. “While you’re figuring out whether his parents are among you Ozmists, perhaps you can tell us about who is not there. Is the missing queen of Oz, Ozma, among your kind? Was she murdered in her infant cradle, as some have said? Or is her spirit still abroad in its human form?”
    The Ozmists reared-twenty, thirty feet in the steamy air.
    “Scratch that last question,” Brrr called in a loud voice. “Never mind. We’ll soldier on as we are. You are dismissed.” Hoping that he and Cubbins could be dismissed, too.
    But the Ozmists replied, There is little time left-the act of our compressing into community unsettles the vapors. You ask the impertinent question all Bears ask, and you will pay the price. Ozma is not dead. But you bring us no news of our lost Oz-you break the contract. You will pay.
    Cubbins’s small jaw dropped. “News!” he remembered. “News of the Northern Bears.” But he was young: nothing in the life of the Bears had changed since he could remember.
    Brrr wanted to say, Lie to them,