We left the scarecrow, despite the fact that Holmes was reluctant to do it. His straw double had become an extension of our journey, and it was my impression that he regarded it as a symbol. I, too, had become quite accustomed to having it around – the thing had proved so blasted useful. Nonetheless, I simply would not hear of further use of the wheelbarrow, and it would have been foolish to attempt to carry the scarecrow with us always.
As all roads lead to Rome, all Saffron Paths lead to the Emerald City. Holmes explained to me that there were four sections to Oz – Munchkinland, Winkie Country, Gillikan and Quadling Country. Each region was denoted by a specific colour, and had its own yellow road leading from its major structure to the Emerald City.
"Where on earth did you learn all of that?" I enquired of him after his off-handed explanation. I resisted the urge to scold Holmes for behaving as if I should've been previously aware of such geographic trivialities.
It was somewhat in his nature to always believe that others should know exactly what he knew; even if it had only been ten minutes since he'd learned it.
"I hope you do not think ill of me, but there was a long period of time during which you were unconscious and I had nothing to do but wait." Holmes began tentatively.
"I assure you, I will feel no offense if you inform me that you resumed investigations while I was incapacitated. I will, however, be offended if it turns out that you have drawn a monocle on me."
"No, there's no monocle. I could only ever achieve the correct appearance of the curly little moustaches, and that would be entirely redundant. I did indeed resume investigations, though.
"I found myself buzzing with nervous energy, and had been habitually pacing. At a certain point, I found that I had paced myself all the way to the walls of the city. These gates are strange, but by no means stranger than anything else we have seen in Oz. They are tall and made entirely of some smooth green substance; rest assured I checked to see if there was any chance of the city being actually constructed from Emeralds."
"And it's not?"
"Actually, part of it is. There is the word 'Oz' spelled out across the front of the gates – all emeralds."
"Good lord! Would it be wrong to nick one?"
"Yes, very. However, I was quite mesmerized and found myself wondering if it would not be an apropos revenge to take all of their gemstones. We all falter." He shrugged.
"You didn't…"
"No! Of course not! I only thought about it! At the time, I didn't know if you were going to survive, or even if you would retain your mind. Spite compelled the fancy, and the fancy has passed." There was an awkward pause.
"They were up too high." I decided aloud.
"Watson, I do not wish to discuss this anymore. The emeralds remain in their proper place and my conscience remains clean."
"They were up too high!"
"Look, do you want to know what I found in the blasted gatehouse or not?" Holmes began to chuckle faintly at the direction our conversation had taken. It was comforting to think the formality would not immediately weigh down every near-death situation.
"Yes. I would like to know what has prompted your sudden and frequent use of the word 'Winkie'. It is strangely unnatural to hear you say it."
"There's nothing unnatural about how I pronounce Winkie," it sounded as if he had eaten raw octopus every time, "it is a word like no other. A word I first spotted upon entering the gatehouse.
"There are two small towers next to the jewel-encrusted entryway; one merely for the purposes of architectural symmetry, the other supposedly for someone to staff in order to allow access to the city. Immediately, I noticed that the side door leading into this tower was in the Dutch style, where the top portion opens separately. This half had been left ajar, so I was able to enter the structure merely be vaulting myself over the lower half of the door."
"Go on."
"Inside was a table covered in maps, technical manuals and notes. There were also two small oval windows; one which overlooked the area in front of the gates, and another that gave a view of what lay behind those gates. The Emerald City, Watson. It found me vaguely unimpressed. Everything was shiny and green, and there were no citizens or any sign of activity. Merely the nauseatingly green courtyard leading towards a monolithic structure where we may be able to find Ozma.
"I am now without any uncertainty that it is Rudiger Ozma whom we are dealing with – his name appeared on several of the papers I discovered in the gatehouse. However, I have no idea what the extent of his involvement may be. I also found these maps and a note of some relevance." here Holmes drew a handful of folded documents from the back pocket of his trousers, for he had left his jacket in the cornfield and had spent the majority of the day in his shirtsleeves.
He handed me the note.
'G. – Have taken the gate keys to Winkie Country Castle. Would like a word with Mr. Holmes re: stolen ruby.'
It was unsigned, but the author was clearly female. Or perhaps a man who liked very curly handwriting.
"It would benefit us to have a word with someone around here who does not advocate murder – be it of Witches or Watsons." Holmes sighed, returning the maps and notes to his pocket.
I looked at the Ruby Walking Stick and considered it thoroughly.
"Do you suppose that it really does have everything to do with this?"
"Worse things have happened for less, Watson. However I will say that it probably does not revolve solely around that ruby. Most likely there are several aspects to the motives of the crimes of Oz – and I intend to search until we know…" Holmes was brutally interrupted as what appeared to be a small winged monkey collided with his chest. There was a painful sounding thwack, as Holmes was knocked onto his back.
It really did seem to be a pygmy marmoset with wings, and I would have began writing frantic letters to Mr. Darwin had I not seen the golden key protruding from the creature's back. It was clockwork.
There was a strange ticking noise emanating from toy-like object, and it took off to the air once more. It circled and dove, this time towards me.
Holmes's quick reflexes were done justice as he leapt from the ground and pulled himself in front of me just in time to take another monkey to the chest. He did this gallantly, and remained upright and poised – due largely to the fact that he now knew what to expect of the device. The monkey bounced backwards off of him and exploded upon contact with the ground, spitting flames and gears and the little head rolled away.
"That was objectionable." Holmes coughed, and noticed that the machine had left an oily smudge on the front of his clothes.
"Are you alright?"
"Oh yes. But I daresay that monkey weighed more than it looked to." He knelt beside the smoldering cogs to examine them.
Next, a strange sound like the inside of a clock shop. He and I turned to observe a sky dark with monkeys as it would be crows – no less than a hundred of the mechanical marmosets.
"Damn." Holmes and I noted in unison.
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A/N: Well, now that I've written the first part of the monkeys I can die happy. I hope you like them! As we draw nearer the end, I find myself desperately hoping that my symbolism and twists will live up to everybody's expectations.
And, like usual, thanks to all of my brilliant reviewers! You guys don't miss a beat!
(But I've still got some surprises up my sleeves, so don't get too comfortable!)