Chapter Six:

 

Dorothy took a moment to mark out a mental grid around the cottage and vicinity before setting out on her search for the brook. After searching the east, and then the northeast quadrant, she located the brook, mostly by sound. The brook was babbling delightfully, just as all fairy tale brooks are required to do. 

She used a bungee cord from her trusty shoulder tote to secure the bottles of wine to a willow branch that overhung the water at a suitable angle, and lowered the wine into the cool stream. The water looked clear and sparkling, and she decided to bathe her tired feet in the rushing water.

Soon she had her shoes and socks off, and was wiggling her toes in the pleasant water gratefully. She held one of her shoes up and examined it.

"I don't think it's so ugly . . .” she mused, not without some mild resentment.

". . .  melpme . . .”

"It's true, I did get them on sale, but they still weren't exactly CHEAP . . .”

“. . . melpME! . . ."

"And they're sturdy, besides. That's the important thing."

“. . . ME! MELPME! . . .”

Dorothy came out of her reverie in a hurry.

"Hello?" she said. "Who said that?"

"MELPME . . . Melp . . . ME . . .”

Dorothy scrambled to her feet and began to search for the source of the voice.

"Scarecrow!" she called, as she cast all around her.  "Toto! Both of you! C'mere, quick!"

She didn't know who was doing the talking, or if they were friend or foe, but she wanted whatever back-up she could muster, just in case.

She'd just located one of the oddest looking individuals (if it even WAS an individual) she ever seen near a chopping block in a stand of willows when Toto and the Scarecrow

arrived.

The individual, or whatever it was, had a roughly humanoid shape, with a barrel chest, massive shoulders, and thick, cylindrical limbs. It also appeared to be composed entirely of tin.

"Melp me," it said, thus confirming that it was, indeed, a sentient, if wildly unconventional, being.

"Uh . . . 'help me'?" Dorothy questioned. "You said 'help me'?"

"Moil man," the tin personage replied. "MMMph."

Dorothy glanced, questioning, at the Scarecrow.

"I don't know . . ." he replied to her unspoken question.   "Hmm . . . 'oil can'? Could that be it?"

"Mep. Moil man. Must . . .”

"Rust!" Dorothy exclaimed, beginning to get a feel for the thing's mode of speech. "It wants the oil can! It's rusty."

The Scarecrow located a half full oil can that had tumbled to the foot of the chopping block one or two summers ago. They quickly began to oil the tin person, starting with the rusted hinges of its jaws.

'Mmoh. Mank. Mank . . . thmk . . . thank .  . . thank GOD! Omigod, thank you, God, oh, do my neck, quick. I've had a crick in it for the past three years!"

It took a good ten minutes of continuous oiling before the tin person could bring itself to let them stop. In that time, it regained some of the use of its limbs, although the function appeared to be a bit stiff as a matter of course. Finally it felt enough presence of mind to look more closely at its trio of rescuers, and peered particularly closely at the Scarecrow.

"Scarecrow? Is that you? I haven't seen YOU in years. Who let you out of the cornfield?"

"Margot?! Is that you?" the Scarecrow said. "I didn't recognize you at all. When did you decide on the new look?"

"Dr. Fong's Incest Survivor Therapeutic Body Work. You know Dr. Fong, don't you?"

"The Rolf therapist/plastic surgeon/blacksmith? Oh, Margot, the man's a quack! His ideas were thoroughly discredited at the 1985 Metallurgy Convention."

"A little late, from my perspective. I went tin in '83. Of course, I hammered him with malpractice. Got a civil action going. He lost his shirt."

"So, you guys know each other," Dorothy said, feeling a bit left out.

"Oh, please forgive me, Dorothy," the Scarecrow said. "I knew Margot when she was much younger. Margot, meet Special Agent Dorothy Gale. She's from Effbeeye, somewhere over the rainbow. You'll find this amusing, Margot - Dorothy dropped a CAR on the Wicked Witch of the East! Can you imagine?"

"No kidding?" Margot asked, eyeing Dorothy with new respect. "I hope it killed him, I always thought that guy was a waste of space."

"Margot is the Wicked Witch of the West's sister, Dorothy." the Scarecrow interjected.

"But don't hold THAT against me, Ms. Gale. I haven't even seen that prick for over five years." Margot the Tin Woman said.

"Really?" asked Dorothy. "He's your brother? I just saw him this morning. Listen, if you don't mind my asking, what on earth happened to him? He looks like he was in an awfully nasty accident."

Margot smiled maliciously at the Scarecrow, who appeared to have found something of paramount interest to observe near the very top of a nearby willow tree.

"Ummm . . .” Margot said, then bent to whisper to Dorothy. "Listen, Dorothy . . . okay if I call you Dorothy? Uh, are you the one who let him out of the cornfield?"

She inclined her head in the direction of the Scarecrow, who had started humming some tune and seemed to have suddenly taken an avid interest in bird-watching

"Well, yes," answered Dorothy “Shouldn't I have?"

"Depends on how you look at it, I guess. You're still in one piece, so I guess he must like you.  He's all right if he likes you.  Pretty much. But, I gotta tell you, some people in Oz, they figure the only safe way to deal with the Scarecrow is to nuke him from orbit. And my brother . . . well . . . the nasty 'accident' you were asking about?"

She raised her eyebrows and covertly pointed at the Scarecrow, who was in the process of wandering off, while elaborately ignoring the conversation entirely.

"No!" breathed Dorothy. "HE did it? He did THAT? Good God, how?"

"Trust me, you don't wanna know. Still, I don't really blame him. My brother's a prize bastard now, but you should have seen him before . . . you know what. Hell on wheels, lemme tell you. Lots of people thought the Scarecrow should have gotten a fucking medal, instead of a life sentence."

"Oh," Dorothy said, in a small voice. "The cornfield."

"Yeah, well, there were some other things too. Oz the Great and Terrible pronounced the sentence himself. He's always hated the Scarecrow, no one knows why. How come you're hanging out with him, anyway? The Scarecrow, I mean?"

"Well, he's kind of fun, in a sort of disturbing way. And he says he knows the way to the Emerald City."

"Oh, he does. He's really, really smart, even if he does have all that crap in his head instead of a brain. And, boy, can he cook! At least you'll eat well. Why are you guys going to the Emerald City?"

"Glinda told me the Wizard might know how to send me home. And the Scarecrow said he wants to come because he thinks he can persuade the Wizard to give him a brain."

"Wow. He must have something pretty damn persuasive in mind.  The Wizard hardly ever does anything for anybody. And the last thing he did for the Scarecrow was slam him in a cornfield and wire him to a t-bar. I wonder what he's got up his sleeve."

"Actually, all I have up my sleeve just now is lunch," said the Scarecrow, who'd crept back to the scene without either of them hearing him. "If you two are QUITE finished discussing me, that is?"

The Scarecrow's tone was just piqued enough to inspire a purely feminine moment of perfect understanding between the two women.  Every woman, regardless of race, creed, sexual orientation, or chosen body style, instinctively comprehends the unique pleasure of dissing a male behind his back. And no male creature, no matter how formidable, in any universe, has ever had any effective defense against it. Dorothy Gale and Margot the Tin Woman instantly became fast friends in that single moment.

Then the word "lunch" registered in Dorothy's consciousness, and she had to swallow several times in succession to keep from drooling. They quickly retrieved the now nicely chilled wine from the brook, Dorothy grabbed her shoes, and they followed the Scarecrow back to the cottage.

Once there, they discovered that the Scarecrow had arranged a magnificent table with the tree stump outside the cottage door, a few odds and ends from inside the house, the check tablecloth and some of the cowslips. Astonishing and tantalizing fragrances wafted out of some pans on the camp stove.

"What'd I tell you?" Margot said to Dorothy. "Cooks like an angel."

"Hmmph," the Scarecrow commented, not quite ready to be mollified. "A bit primitive, in my opinion. I couldn't find any crystal. And all the butter's gone over. Still, I suppose we won't starve."

They most definitely did not starve. It was one of the most delightful luncheons Dorothy could ever remember wolfing down.

She was a little surprised to see both Margot and the Scarecrow eating with a will, since she would have guessed that neither of them had a proper digestive system. But she couldn't think of any polite way to ask them about it, so she set the small mystery aside.

Toto butted at their knees and nuzzled at their elbows and made a general pest of himself begging for scraps. The conversation was relaxed and easy, in that good way that sometimes happens between people who don't know each other that well, but are discovering reserves of common ground over a good meal. 

Margot was explaining how she'd come to be rusted solid beside the brook.

"See . . .  Judy, that's my SO - decided to stay skin, even after I had myself recast in tin. We've been very happy for a long time, but a few years ago, we decided we wanted children. So, I started looking for a good flesh/metal fertility clinic and a decent sperm bank."

 "I thought you wanted the Wicked Witch to be the donor, Margot?" the Scarecrow asked. 

"At least that's what I heard. Of course, it's been primarily crows I've been talking to over the past few years, and everybody knows what incorrigible gossips they are. Wasn't there something about your inheritance? The castle and the income properties?"

"Tenements and slums in the Emerald city," Margot snorted. "And the castle? What kind of nut would want to live in a mausoleum like that? The whole thing is ugly as sin and would be a nightmare to heat and maintain. Besides, I'd rather swallow a bucket of flesh-eating bacteria than touch one more drop of that sonofabitch's semen."

"The Witch was . . .  less than filial toward his sister in their youth," the Scarecrow explained to Dorothy.

"Damn skippy," agreed Margot, with a rancid gleam of old injury in her eyes. "Anyway, we were short the cash we needed for the various procedures, so I took this gig as a wood cutter to help raise the bread," she stopped to feed Toto a bit of fig compote and to refill her wineglass.

"So one day," she went on. "I'm out by the brook chopping some lengths, and this freak rain storm comes along and dumps damn near five inches on me before I know what's happening. I rusted solid on the spot. Wait till I get my hands on the ironmonger that did my last galvanizing job!"

"But the Witch doesn't seem to be on a budget, Margot," Dorothy objected. "I had the impression there was money in the family? Why are you out here scraping up the funds for the implantation procedure?"

"The Witch cut me off flat when I had my body replaced. Claimed it would ruin his reputation in Oz to have a tin sister. He's got control of all the money, everything. Not that I'd take dollar one from him anyway."

"How close were you to raising what you needed?" the Scarecrow asked. "Before you got caught in the rainstorm?"

"Not so close, to tell you the truth. Wood cutting doesn't pay as well as you might think."

Dorothy had found this whole sad story positively infuriating. The Wicked Witch seemed to be a cousin under the skin to many vile, greedy oppressors she herself had encountered in the land of Effbeeye.

Oh, shit, she thought, suddenly. Now they've got ME doing it!

"I have to tell you, Margot," she said, between bites of fig-en-croute. "Your brother sure sounds like some hot ticket."

"Well, you met him, didn't you?" Margot said. "I'm sure he didn't make a good impression. To meet him is to hate him. Nobody can stand to be around him, except for that ugly monkey of his . . .  Cordell."

Dorothy surveyed the Scarecrow with a certain amount of new understanding. Finally she smiled at him.

"Maybe Margot was right. Maybe you should have gotten a medal. This is very good chilled fig soup, by the way."

"Do you think so?" he asked, pleased. "I couldn't find any coriander or lemon peel in the cottage, so I had to make some fairly risky substitutions."

"I'd been running pretty low on groceries when I rusted out," Margot explained.

"Do you think the Wizard could do something about Margot's situation?" Dorothy asked the Scarecrow.

"Hmm . . . what an interesting idea. He might, with the proper persuasion. It would probably be worth a try. I don't see how you could be any worse off than you are now, Margot."

"Yes, come with us, Margot," Dorothy added. "It's worth a shot, isn't it?"

Toto jumped in Margot's lap and wiggled his fuzzy ears at her.

"You know, I think I will. Even if he doesn't help, I need to catch up with Judy. She's been working at the Emerald City Cabaret, and she's probably frantic by now, not hearing from me. And you . . .  “she said to Toto, petting his head.”You are a real cutie. How come you've got a muzzle on him? Does he bite?"

Before Dorothy could explain about Toto's problem, the sound of a hundred china plates shattering at once sounded and an all too familiar cloud of vile smelling green smoke erupted from the roof of the cottage and spilled over the walls and fogged the ground below.

The Wicked Witch and the ugly monkey Cordell materialized in the column of smoke and Cordell had to strain to keep his master's bed balanced on the steep roof of the picturesque cottage.

The Witch glared first at Dorothy, who was the only one of the four he could properly make out in all the green smoke.

"So, MS. Special Agent Gale, we meet again! No busybody-in-drag Glinda to hide behind now, is there? Where's that Brain?"

"YOU!" shrieked Margot, absolutely livid at the mere sight of her hated brother. "What the FUCK are you doing here?"

"Is that my lovely tin sister?" the Witch sneered, nastily. "You put the moves on Special Agent prime-piece-of-ass yet, Margot?"

Dorothy immediately pulled her gun, and set her sights on the Witch's good eye. Special Agent WHAT???  We'll just SEE about that!

"Well, well, well," said the Scarecrow, emerging from a thick bank of smoke. "The Wicked Witch of the West! Imagine that! We were just talking about you, isn't that odd? It's been ages. How have you been? I'm so glad to see you! You look marvelous."

"Scarecrow??" The Witch hissed.

"SCARECROW??" he screamed.

"SSSCCCAAARRREEECCCRROOOOWWW????" his voice left the range of normal human hearing and entered the ultrasonic, and he began to foam at the mouth.

"If I had only known you were coming, I'd have set an extra place for you." the Scarecrow said mildly. His dark red eyes were positively sparkling with delight.

"AAAAAUUUUUGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHH!!!!!" raved the Witch, going into a full scale convulsion and exhibiting Cheyne-Stokes respiration. Cordell immediately set about preparing a sedative injection for the Witch before he could have a stroke.

"Better get that air bubble out before you inject him, Cordell," the Scarecrow suggested helpfully as he gazed up at the wonderful spectacle on the roof.

With a good twenty milligrams of valium in him, the Witch was, at length, able to find some composure. He stared at Dorothy with a certain species of hostile disbelief.

"Less than eight hours in Oz, and you drop a car on my employee, steal my Ruby Brain, hook up with my no-account tin lesbo of a sister and let THIS fucking WALKING DISASTER AREA out of the cornfield! I have to ask, Ms. Gale, what do you have against me?"

"Oh, I don't know Mr. Witch," Dorothy declared, an iron clang in her voice. "It's not all that bad, surely? At least I haven't shot you. Yet . . ."

Her pistol arm never wavered a micron as she spoke.

"You really do seem a trifle overwrought, you know. Why don't you come down off that roof and discuss it with us?" the Scarecrow added with a malicious smirk. "Face to face?"

"You're dead, you vicious little rabid ferret, I guaran-fucking-tee you that! You just wait. I'll stuff a whole damn garbage dump in your head! I'll fucking DANCE on your rotten straw guts."

"You ARE speaking metaphorically, I presume?" retorted the Scarecrow, completely unimpressed. "Why wait? Come down now. I'm right here."

"Yeah, brother mine. Come on down," added Margot.

Stand off.  They could not get to the Witch, and he clearly wasn't coming to them. Not without an army at his back, anyway. Dorothy thought about just shooting him and getting it over with, but something stopped her. Perhaps it was that, for all his brutish posturing, there was, at the bottom, something essentially pathetic about him.

"I want that Ruby Brain, Ms. Gale, and I'll get it. Your fine new friends won't stop me. Nothing will stop me. I can't deal with you as I'd like right now, but just TRY to stay out of my way! Just TRY!"

He and Cordell disappeared in another puff of green smoke.

"Ugh!" snorted Margot. "What a stink!"

"So YOU have the Ruby Brain, Dorothy?" the Scarecrow asked.

"Well, yeah, I guess I do. Glinda said I should take it."

"Quite right, too. You killed the Witch of the East, after all. It rightfully belongs to you."

"Umm . . . are you mad?" she asked, a little worried.  "That I didn't tell you? You've been saying you wanted a brain."

The Scarecrow laughed. "Not that one, Dorothy. It's supposed to have all sorts of arcane magical properties, but it wouldn't be of any use to me. It doesn't work that way, from what I can gather. Remember, it IS the Witch of the East's former brain, after all. And he was a bona fide moron."

"So, you're not mad?"

"Dorothy," he said softly, and gave her a warm smile. She had responded in kind before she knew her face was moving.  "At you? Not at all."

"Well, I'm mad," Margot cut in, oblivious to the important moment she had just obliterated with her vehement interruption. "That high handed fuck can't tell me what to do! I'll help you get to the Wizard now, Dorothy, just to spite him!"

"That's strange," said the Scarecrow with an amused smile. "He told me that's why he was cutting off his nose. To spite his face. It seems to have worked, too. But I expect he doesn't remember."

Margot and Dorothy regarded him with some disapproval. He had his strong points, they could both agree, but his sense of humor could definitely be off-putting. He smiled back at them, refusing to comment further and looking anything but apologetic.

Hmm. Dorothy thought. I don't seem to be making the right social choices here in Oz. Wonder what I'm doing wrong?

Twenty minutes later the small party of travelers, now increased by one, resumed the journey to the Emerald City, and the Great and Powerful Oz beyond.