Fed, rested and cleaned up, Amanda and her companions were escorted by their various Peridotean helpers to the Magus' hall, where the city dwellers wished the newcomers luck and scooted away before Amanda could protest. She glanced at her fellow travelers, then squared her shoulders and yanked the door open. "Come on. He's obviously here somewhere."

Jesse looked around fearfully, clutching his tail and trying not to shove the end in his mouth as they advanced down a long and very dimly lit hall. He began humming to himself, making an effort to avoid putting too many r's in "forest" so as to avoid attracting undue attention. Amanda grabbed his arm and smiled at him, although she wasn't sure who was reassuring whom. Next to her, Steve, his eyes darting around suspiciously, kept plodding forward, one hand supporting Mark, who seemed to be more wobbly-legged than usual. The only one who seemed unimpressed by the overly dramatic scene was the little dog, who prowled here and there in his mistress' wake.

They reached the end of the hall, where no new door or any sign of ingress or egress could be seen. "Now what?" Steve asked testily. And jumped with a squeal of joints as a new voice suddenly and loudly made itself heard.

"WHO ARE YOU, WHO DARE TO FACE THE GREAT AND POWERFUL M?"

Something about the voice sounded familiar, but the volume created too much distortion for Amanda to put her finger on it. "We – I – we seek your help, sir," she managed, hoping her own voice wasn't shaking.

There was a pause, then the voice spoke again. "YOU LOOK LIKE A SMART AND COMPETENT YOUNG WOMAN. FOR WHAT POSSIBLE REASON COULD YOU REQUIRE MY ASSISTANCE?"

They eyed each other, wondering who was going to go first. Mark and Steve actually started rock-paper-scissors, subsiding only when Amanda glared at them. Finally, she spoke up. "I have a request for myself and one for another who could not travel." When the voice did not interrupt, she continued, encouraged. "I arrived here by accident and need help getting home –"

"HOME? YOU CAN'T FIND YOUR WAY HOME, GIRL? DO I LOOK LIKE A TRAFFIC COP?"

Unexpectedly, Mark spoke up, his normally gentle tone sharp. "You don't look like anything – we can't see you. And that's not a very nice way to speak to a stranger who's traveled so far in a strange land."

"REALLY? AND WHAT IS IT YOU'RE AFTER, STRAW MAN? LET ME GUESS – A BRAIN, RIGHT?"

Mark blinked, startled, but the voice went on.

"AND THE METAL BOZO WANTS A HEART SO HE CAN CRY HIMSELF TO RUST AGAIN? AND – IS THAT SCRUFFY BEAST THERE REALLY A LION? I BET YOU'RE LOOKING FOR NERVE? HA HA HA HA!" The laughter stopped abruptly. "GET OUT OF HERE AND DON'T WASTE MY TIME!"

Amanda grabbed her shrinking companions before they turned tail and fled. "Wait a minute! I'm not finished!"

The silence was telling, but at least the voice wasn't yelling at her any more. She took a deep breath. "The Oldest Tree wants you to reclaim his limb from the Wicked Witch of the West."

"He What?" The Magus sounded unnerved, particularly since he had gone from speaking in all caps to initial caps only.

Amanda repeated the tree's message, and asked, "Does that mean something?"

"Hmmm. Maybe. I Wonder What That Old B—I Mean Witch – Is Up To Now."

The Magus' ruminations were suddenly interrupted by a great commotion outside, where people were running madly in all directions, babbling and pointing at the sky. The travelers ran out to see for themselves, and Amanda gasped as she saw the tell-tale smoke from the Witch's frenzied flight.

"Surenter What's-Her-Name the mudderer –" Jesse read, craning his neck. "Who's What's-Her-Name? And what does surenter mean?"

"I think it's supposed to be surrender" Amanda said coldly. "I've had enough of this. I'm not a mudderer – I mean murderer!"

There was a sudden pop and fizz of a magical explosion in front of the Witch's nose, and she hastily decided to close up shop for the day. She wheeled downward, and screeched, "I'll get you, my pretty! And your little dog – er – never mind, him too!" Another fireball landed on the back of her broom, giving it an interesting shimmy, and the Witch cut her losses and hightailed it out of there, the broom's rear smoking unhappily.

"Tiresome Old Hag," the Magus said smugly. "Ahem. If You Will Return Inside, I Will Make You An Offer You Can't Refuse."

How did he do that, Amanda wondered, but she was not in the mood to split hairs. She gathered her friends and slogged down the dim hallway again, thinking sourly that it wouldn't hurt for him to turn the lights up.

"The Oldest Tree's Limbs Have Special Powers To Strengthen Spells Cast Over Distance," the Magus mused, still concealed. "There Have Been Rumblings of Dissension Between West And Her Sister."

Amanda snorted. "That's late news. The Wicked Witch of the East is dead. Either before my house fell on her or because my house fell on her – not, I might add, because I intended my house to fall on her."

The Magus seemed surprised. "So She Either Killed Her Sister Or Cast A Spell To Bring You Here From – From?"

Maybe they were finally getting somewhere. "Los Angeles, California. Not Kansas. But far away. And she's accused me of murdering her sister."

There was a startled cough, then a derisive sound from the unseen Magus. "It Is Obvious That She Is Responsible, Since She Took The Oldest Tree's Limb." A rustling of clothing, as if the Magus had risen from his seat, and a decisive clapping of hands. "I Have Decided To Help You, On One Condition – "

Not the broom thing! Amanda groaned, and started to speak.

"Bring Me The Oldest Tree's Limb From The Wicked Witch Of The West, And I Will Grant Your Requests – And Prove That You Are No Murderer."

This was worse. Amanda would bet a day's pay that the witch didn't exactly leave that lying around carelessly; but her protests went unheard as she and her friends were bundled off hastily by the excessively cheerful (and relieved) Peridoteans. In short order, the travelers found themselves once more on the wrong side of the City gates, this time facing west.