The Lion drew himself upright, hoping his voice sounded more confident than he felt. “I am the Once-Cowardly Lion of Oz, bearer of the Courage of the Wizard of Oz and King of the Beasts, and I demand you desist your invasion of Oz at once,” he shouted over the clanging, hoping fervently that Ozma would wake up any minute.
The Nome King laughed and waved one hand. Around him, the darkness seethed, and suddenly he was surrounded by pale, thin warriors in black armor, their faces hidden by black helmets. The Lion’s heart missed a beat, but he held his ground, determined not to show his fear.
“You’re a long way from home, little cat,” the Nome King hissed. “Do you really think you’re in a position to be making demands?” He leaned forward, and the Lion took an involuntary step backward. The crystal on top of the Nome King’s staff blazed with blue-white light. At last the Lion saw the source of the terrible metallic noise. At one end of the huge cavern, a vast, many-armed machine of iridescent blue metal the Lion had never seen before was chipping away at the rock. More bald Nomes—these stoop-shouldered and scuttling, wearing leather aprons over their shirtless chests—stoked a furnace at the heart of the machine, dumping load after load of coals into the glowing inferno. They wore thick black glass goggles on tattered leather straps to protect their eyes from the heat. Huge leather gloves clanking with chain mail kept the coals from burning their hands. They were all pale as mushrooms but coated in black dust, their lean, wiry bodies scarred and burned where the leather had not been enough to protect them. Many of them had carved elaborate designs into their bare arms and chests and packed the cuts with coal dust so that their skin seemed covered in dense black lace. Others had shoved chunks of iron through their earlobes, noses, or lips. Moving together, they looked like an army of sinister beetles pushing their burdens back and forth like ants carrying food back to their nests.
“I have been working for a very long time to reach the glorious country of Oz,” the Nome King snarled. “Do you think I’ll stop now because a snippy little house cat says I should?”
“You’ll stop because the Queen of Oz tells you to,” said a high, clear voice behind the Lion. The Nome King’s sneer transformed momentarily to a look of shock. The Lion whirled around. Ozma stood tall and proud, her wings spread out to their full span and their golden veins glowing. Her dark hair whipped around her head, crackling with electricity. Her green eyes had darkened to black and her enchanted orb blazed with a green light that rivaled the Nome King’s crystal. The two rulers stared at each other, neither of them giving an inch.
“If it isn’t Lurline’s little protégé, the Princess of Oz,” the Nome King laughed, recovering quickly from his surprise. “Do you really think your magic is a match for mine, child?”
“I’m the Queen of Oz now,” Ozma said coldly. “And you know it is, old man. Abandon this foolish plan and leave my country in peace. There is no reason for war between our peoples.”
“Oh, there are plenty of reasons,” the Nome King said, waving his arm again. The cavern wall behind him shimmered and dissolved into a window onto another world. The sky was a dark, stormy gray over barren fields where blackened stalks of corn and wheat looked like skeletons. A harsh wind blew dust storms across the desolate landscape, whipping against the crumbling stone walls of a tiny village that looked abandoned. But as the Lion looked more closely, he saw gaunt, desperate faces in the windows of the houses. A starving dog limped through the empty streets, too hungry even to howl. And the wall was lined with—the Lion flinched in horror—heads. Some were human, and some were creatures he didn’t recognize at all. Creatures he’d never seen before.
As they watched in horror, a group of strange, terrifying creatures descended on the desolate village. Their bodies were human but their arms and legs were the same length so that they moved on all fours. How can they move so quickly? the Lion wondered, and then he saw that the creatures’ feet and hands had been replaced by whirling, spiked wheels. As they drew closer to the village, he could see their clothes—crazed, clashing patchworks of garish colors that stood out harshly against the washed-out landscape. Their eyes were mad and wild. One of them hefted a blazing torch aloft and with a screech of laughter hurled it at the nearest house. The straw roof caught immediately, and soon the entire hovel was ablaze as its inhabitants poured out into the dirt street in terror. More of the wheeled creatures set fire to the village, shrieking with glee and laughing and pointing at its helpless, sobbing inhabitants.
“Behold the Land of Ev,” hissed the Nome King. “The Deadly Desert is expanding. The drought is so severe nothing can grow. The Wheelers terrorize my subjects. The magic itself is seeping out of the land. Unless Oz shares its bounty, the country is doomed.” He glanced back at his warriors. “Plus, I’m getting really tired of living underground,” he said in a more conversational tone. “Bad for the complexion, you know? And the only thing to eat is mushrooms. I’m really sick of mushrooms.”
Ozma looked stunned. “I did not know it was so bad there,” she whispered.
“The people above the earth are starving,” the Nome King said. “The riches of Oz are vast. Why would you not agree to share them? From what I hear, the Emerald Palace is plenty big enough for two.” His words were reasonable, but there was a dangerous glitter in his pale eyes.
The Lion remembered himself. He was the King of the Beasts and the Protector of Ozma, and he was not to be trifled with. “You didn’t ask to share!” the Lion roared furiously. “You’re tunneling under the Deadly Desert to invade Oz!”
The Nome King barely flinched at the Lion’s fierce roar. He drew himself up to his full height, his eyes blazing. “Did you expect us to beg, Lion? To come crawling through the desert like some poor relation? Oz is no greater a country than Ev, and no more deserving of its riches!”
“But why are you invading?” the Lion protested. “You could have sent a messenger! Anything other than spending years digging under the desert in secret.”
“The Wizard was no friend of the Land of Ev,” the Nome King said coldly. “I did not know Ozma had replaced him.”
The Lion narrowed his eyes. He’s lying, he thought. Did Ozma guess? If she did, she was hiding it. What did she have up her sleeve? He made a noise of protest, but Ozma held up a hand to silence him.
“My dear, brave Lion,” she said gently. “The Nome King is right. If the Wizard is partly responsible for the suffering of the people of Ev, it’s our duty to help them. I will do what the king asks, if it means avoiding war.”
How could the Wizard be responsible if no one knew for certain that Ev even existed? Ozma wasn’t making any sense. But the Nome King’s eyes lit up, and his warriors took a step back, apparently deciding they would not be needed to defend him.
“We have been preparing for war for a long time, and my people are angry,” he said. “Peace will not be quite as easy as you think, Ozma. Ev is not some charity case that you can dismiss with a few loaves of bread.”
“How can we avoid a battle?” Ozma asked, her eyes wide. Lion couldn’t believe she was still negotiating, when it looked like she had already lost.
The Nome King was silent for a long moment, and then a slow, nasty smile spread across his face. The Lion shivered. And cursed his courage for leaving him when he needed it most.
“I will make you a bargain,” he said. “You will allow me to use my magic to disguise you. If your little companion can recognize you, I will return to Ev.”
“And if he fails?”
The Nome King smiled. “If I am to sacrifice everything, then your cost must be a great one, too. If he fails, you will remain enchanted—forever.”
Ozma tilted her head, considering. “If you return to Ev, you’re not sacrificing anything at all except a war with my people.”
“You see what Ev is like now,” the Nome King hissed. “This is our last chance to survive. If you defeat me, Princess Ozma, my kingdom is ruined. My people will starve. I would not dream of asking any less of you.”
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“No!” the Lion roared. “If you are enchanted, Princess, he will claim Oz for himself!”
“Perhaps,” the Nome King said idly, picking his nails with a triumphant look in his eyes.
“That’s not—” the Lion began desperately, but Ozma cut him off.
“He gets six guesses,” she said.
The Nome King laughed. “Are you kidding?”
“Five.”
“Three,” he said, rolling his eyes.
“I’m not—” the Lion said.
“Agreed,” Ozma interrupted, extending her hand to the Nome King. He took it, and their clasped hands blazed with a searing green light. Green lightning cracked across the cavern, and for just a second a cool, refreshing breeze wafted past them. The Nome King yelped in surprise and yanked his hand back.
“What have you done, witch?”
“I’m a fairy, not a witch,” Ozma said calmly. “And I’ve bound you to your word with all the power of Oz.”
The Nome King stared at her, his eyes glittering with suspicion, but Ozma returned his gaze with an innocent smile. “May I speak to the Lion before you enchant me, Your Highness?” she asked sweetly.
He scowled. “If you must, but be quick about it. My people are hungry. I am not interested in delays.”
Ozma knelt down beside the Lion and hugged him. “Trust me, dear Lion,” she whispered into his ear.
“How will I know you?” the Lion asked. “What if I fail?”
“You won’t,” Ozma said confidently. “You can’t.”
That was hardly reassuring, but Ozma was already standing up to face the king. “I’m ready,” she said.
The Nome King’s smile was so sinister that even the Lion’s courage faltered. He raised both arms, and his robes opened slightly, revealing an elaborate ruby necklace glittering at his throat. A ruby necklace the Lion recognized immediately. It was the necklace Glinda had shown him in the Forest of the Beasts. He blinked. Was it possible? Did the Nome King have the necklace Glinda was looking for? How had he gotten it? Ozma’s eyes narrowed. She’d seen the necklace, too. Did she know what it was?
But there was no time to think about that now. The Nome King flicked his wrist, and the cavern began to fill with a silvery, foul-smelling mist. The Lion covered his face with his paws, but he couldn’t help breathing in the noxious fumes. “Replicatum scatterorium,” the Nome King hissed, and the weird mist evaporated. Coughing, the Lion looked up. The floor of the cavern was covered with tiny silver figurines that looked exactly like the Queen of Oz, and Ozma was gone.
ELEVEN
The Nome King yawned loudly. One of his warriors hurried to bring him a silver stool. He settled onto it, stretching ostentatiously and yawning again. “Hurry up, house cat,” he said, examining his silver nails. “We haven’t got all day down here.”
The Nome King wasn’t just an evil tyrant hell-bent on taking over Oz, the Lion thought irritably. He was also incredibly annoying, and he was clearly pretty powerful. But for whatever reason, Ozma had thought this was a good idea, and now it was up to him to save her and the entire Land of Oz.
The Lion bent down to sniff at the silver figurines. Each miniature Ozma was slightly different. Some of the Ozmas were smiling, and others looked like they were about to cry. A few seemed angry. Some of the tiny Ozmas had tiny accessories: one was holding a miniature scepter, and another was carrying a giant cake. They all had one thing in common, however: each one looked exactly like the queen. The Lion almost groaned aloud. How was he supposed to tell which one was the real Ozma?
“Do I get a hint?” he asked, stalling for time. The Nome King only snorted, not bothering to reply.
The Lion didn’t have magic and he knew deep down he wasn’t particularly smart. But Ozma had seemed to know what she was doing. Why had she thought he’d be able to solve this puzzle? What did he have to help him? Courage wasn’t going to do him much good.
“I’m waiting,” the Nome King said.
“Oh, calm down,” the Lion snapped, and the Nome King looked momentarily surprised. He obviously wasn’t used to anyone talking back to him. Was that what set the Lion apart? He paced the cavern floor, examining each of the dozens of tiny Ozmas until he found one that seemed to have an extra bit of difference. Its face was just a teensy bit more realistic than the others, and something about the silver folds of its dress looked familiar. “That one,” he said, pointing with his paw. With a pop, the silver figurine exploded into confetti.
The Nome King giggled. “Not even close,” he said. “You’re really bad at this, aren’t you? What was Ozma thinking, putting you in a position of responsibility? In my kingdom, only qualified people get to be in charge.”
“I wish you’d stop talking,” the Lion muttered under his breath, trying not to panic. He still had two more guesses. There was still a chance to save Ozma—and Oz. But the Nome King was getting restless. His warriors shifted where they stood, their armor clanking.
“Maybe I should just kill you,” he said thoughtfully.
“You can’t,” the Lion said quickly. “You made a bargain. Ozma sealed it.”
“The deal was that if you recognized Ozma I’d let you both go,” the Nome King said. “I didn’t say anything about not killing you.”
“I can’t recognize Ozma if I’m dead,” the Lion pointed out. “So technically you did agree to keep me alive.”
“An unfortunate technicality,” the Nome King said peevishly, sinking back onto his stool. The Lion was proud of himself. That line of argument had been worthy of the Scarecrow’s brain. Maybe he wasn’t so stupid after all. Maybe that was the secret to finding the real Ozma: using his brain. What would set enchanted Ozma apart from the rest of the silver figurines? She was the Queen of Oz, obviously. Her magic was green. She was young, but somehow also ageless. The Lion was thinking so hard he could practically feel gears turning in his brain. Was this what it felt like to be the Scarecrow? Thinking was exhausting work. He looked up. The Nome King’s soldiers had surrounded him. “You can’t kill me,” he said again, his heart pounding.
“I suppose I can’t,” the Nome King said. “But if they do it . . .” He didn’t have to finish.
“That one!” the Lion yelped in a panic, pointing to another statuette. It disappeared in a flash of silver smoke, and the Nome King leapt to his feet, clapping.
“Never mind!” he exclaimed. “This is rather fun! You’re doing my work for me, you stupid cat. Watching you suffer is almost making up for how boring this whole afternoon has been.” He waved at his soldiers, and they advanced toward the Lion in a terrifying ring.
The Lion’s fear turned to anger. He was still the King of the Beasts of Oz, and he did not appreciate being bullied by this creepy king. The Lion reared back on his hind legs, roaring fiercely. To his satisfaction, the soldiers took a step backward. It was impossible to read their expressions behind the black helmets, but he imagined they looked impressed and a little afraid. “That’s more like it,” he said.
“Oh, whatever,” said the Nome King. “You’ve only got one guess left, anyway, and I’m sure you’ll botch that one, too.” He sat back down, looking sulky.
The Lion’s mind raced. This was it. If he chose wrong, both Oz and its queen were toast. His stomach rumbled loudly. He hadn’t eaten since he and Ozma had had their little snack. He was starving. If he screwed up now, he wouldn’t even get the benefit of a last meal.
Suddenly, he got a whiff of something delicious. His nostrils flared. The Nome King and his army smelled flat and metallic, like hot iron being quenched in water. This was the smell of something living, flesh and bone and blood and edible.
And then in a flash he knew why Ozma had trusted him to choose correctly. Ozma wasn’t human, and she wasn’t mortal, but she was flesh and blood. Under other circumstances, he might have eaten her. Obviously he wouldn’t dream of snacking on the Queen of Oz—and his friend—but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t smell like something delicious, especially if he wa
s hungry. He closed his eyes, letting his hunger overwhelm him. His stomach growled again. He let everything else fall away—the king, the warriors, the cavern, the impossible task at hand. He was back in the Forest of the Beasts, hunting for his prey. He crouched low, lashing his tail, his nose to the ground. There it was again: the faintest scent of breathing, living flesh.
“What do you think you’re doing?” shrieked the Nome King, but the Lion ignored him. He was on the prowl in the forest, ears tuned to the slightest rustle, all his senses on full alert, placing his paws carefully and noiselessly. There, in the bushes ahead, was his target. He gathered his strength, his muscles coiling like springs, and pounced.
He landed with a clatter of pebbles and opened his eyes. He’d dislodged a tarnished silver figurine from the floor of the cavern, where it was mostly hidden by a pile of gravel. It was duller than the other statuettes, and the rough silver face looked nothing like Ozma. He knew without question that this was the one.
“You weren’t supposed to hide her,” he said to the Nome King. “That’s cheating.” He nudged the figurine with his paw. The Nome King leapt to his feet, his white face purple with rage.
“I won’t have this!” he shrieked. “I won’t tolerate you, you fleabag!” But he was too late. At the Lion’s feet, the figurine grew rapidly until it was life-size. The dull silver metal turned iridescent, like oil on the surface of a pond. The multitude of colors swirled together and turned green before dripping away, revealing the queen. She smiled up at the Lion.
“I knew it would work,” she said, flinging her arms around his neck and burying her face in his mane. “I knew. My brave, wonderful Lion!” But she was almost sobbing, and the Lion guessed that she’d been nowhere near as certain she would survive as she insisted. His heart leapt with sympathy and fondness for the brave, beautiful queen. She’d trusted him with her life, and she’d had enough faith in him to believe he could rescue her. Her crazy gamble had paid off—because of him. He felt tremendously close to the queen in that moment. He knew he’d be as willing to risk his life for her as she had for her kingdom.