Chapter 21
*wave* to Guestie. Thank you for your review! :D
This chapter has more than 6500 words. What can I say? I got carried away. :D
The monthly meeting with the Wizard was always a boring affair. Ministers came and reported on the progress of the projects under their portfolios, trying to make their work (and themselves) sound more important than it actually was. The meeting had started early in the morning and showed no sign of abating even though it was way past lunchtime. Glinda was taking the minutes for this meeting and her fingers ached from all the writing. She dropped the pen on her notebook and gave her hand a shake, wondering if anyone would notice if a chunk of the discussion was omitted. She suspected that no one would.
Fiyero sat across the room from Glinda, the only Vinkun in a room of mostly Gillikinese, a handful of Munchkinlanders and one Quadling. His hands were clasped on his lap and he listened attentively to everything that was being said. He did not look at her. Glinda suddenly remembered that he would be called back to Vinkus one day, to take over the ruling of the Arjiki tribe from his father, and he would be bogged down with matters similar to these. He would want Glinda to go back with him, to be his queen. The idea of becoming royalty used to be vaguely exciting, but now it brought upon this dreadful feeling. She should not be the one who should go back with him. It should be Elphaba. She cast a glance at Madame Morrible who was seated next to the Wizard. She wondered if the older woman could read her thoughts, and subconsciously ducked her head.
The Transport Minister was requesting for more funds. The Yellow Brick Road was far from completed, but some parts of the roads were already showing wear and tear, while other parts had been destroyed by resistance groups and were in dire need of repair.
The Wizard asked him to submit his past year's and projected expenses and promised to look into his request. Madame Morrible spoke up.
"You're supposed to say no, Your Ozness," she told the Wizard, as if she was chiding a child. She turned to the minister.
"I will let it pass since His Ozness has agreed to provide more funds. But I'm telling you this - you're going to empty the treasury with your incompetency. Your job is not just to build. You need to figure out how to do more with less. Look for cheaper resources. Retrench some staff. If all else fails, fire yourself! You'll leave this room one head shorter the next time you asked for more money." She waved her hand, as if she was calling upon her powers, and the minister trembled in fear and backed off. Some of the staff in the room looked at one another. This was not the first time Morrible had overruled the Wizard, and everyone in the room knew that she was not just the press secretary. She was acting like a Grand Vizier. Sometimes she was behaving more like a ruler than the Wizard himself. And she knew sorcery and was not afraid to use it. Glinda felt a shiver down her spine. She looked at the ministers, at their worried faces with their hushed voices, and wondered if she was the only one who thought that way.
The next Minister was about to shuffle forward to submit his report when someone knocked on the door. Two of the Guards entered hurriedly and went over to Fiyero. One of them whispered something that elicited a frown from him. The Arjiki stood up, a solemn look on his face.
"Your Ozness, I'm afraid I have to go. The Wicked Witch of the West has been spotted in the City."
The announcement caused an uproar among the staff, covering the soft gasp that escaped from Glinda's lips. There were shouts all around, the ministers expressing their fear that the Wicked Witch would come to the Wizard's Palace and killed them. They raised their voices, asking the Wizard to tighten the security and assign more guards to protect them. Each of them swore that he was the one the Witch would kill. They would not be safe no matter where they hid. Glinda backed off slowly, shaking her head. Wondering why was Elphaba so foolish as to come back when she managed to escape the last round. She snuck a glance at Madame Morrible, at the smug look on the older woman's face, and knew that she would not let her Elphie off so easily if she was captured this time. There was a flash of green at the corner of her eye, and Glinda turned, half expecting to see her best friend in the room. She saw was Fiyero leaving the room with his men instead.
She ran after him.
"Fiyero! Wait!"
The Captain looked back.
"Yes, Glinda?" he asked.
"Is this true? Is she in the Emerald City?"
Fiyero looked at her, puzzled. "Yes. The tipoff came from a reliable source. Someone saw her in the Warehouse District. We're going to get her this time."
"Fiyero, please listen to me. You can't go. You cannot go."
Fiyero knitted his eyebrows together.
"Why? Is there anything that you know? Is this an ambush?"
Glinda shook her head. "Please, Fiyero, trust me. You can't go. You can't kill her." She held onto his arms.
Fiyero gently pulled her hands away.
"Glinda. I can't leave my men to this. It's too dangerous for them to do this alone. The Witch has too many tricks up her sleeves. I need to be there."
She clung onto him again. "Fiyero, please don't go. Please, Dearest, please listen to me for once."
His face softened at her term of endearment, at the pleading in her voice. "Glinda, this is the chance to make everything right. I will not fail this time. Don't worry about me. I know what I am doing. I'll come back, safe. I'm sorry but I can't stay here while my men risked their lives for me. I'll be back before you know it." He pecked on her forehead, ready to run.
She grabbed his arm again. "Fiyero… you have to believe me! You… you…" The blonde shook her head frantically, trying to make the words came out. It was as if someone had cast a spell on her, making her tongue tied. She struggled with the words, trying to make her mouth form the words.
"Glinda." His patience was running thin.
"You love her!" she blurted, her voice barely above a squeak, but Fiyero did not hear her; his head was turned, listening to what his men were shouting.
"Come on, Captain, the Witch is not going to wait for you!" they jested.
Fiyero patted her hand absentmindedly, his impatience showing, and he ran after his men without another word.
Glinda tried to step forward, but her legs were frozen in place.
"Fiyero!" She called out to him as he took the stairs, but he did not even turn back and looked at her. She went after him, but he and his men were too fast, and her heels, which were not even meant for walking fast, hampered her progress. She stopped and tried to undo the ankle strap of her heels. She could hear the sounds of the men's boots on the stairs as they sped downstairs, their boisterous calls floating up the stairwell, all of them eager to make their way to the other part of the City to kill the witch. She imagined Fiyero following them, his lips pursed, a determined look on his face.
It took a long time to remove both shoes, and she ran downstairs, nearly stumbling down the steps. An ankle turned under her as she turned a corner too fast, and she bit her lower lip before she carried on. She reached the ground floor, flinging herself against the door as she heard the clops of the horses' hooves fading away. She ran across the courtyard barefooted, and stumbled when she tripped on a rock. Their transport was no longer in sight when she pushed herself up.
"Fiyero!" she called again, weaker this time as the tears welled up in her eyes. "But…. but you love her…." She shook uncontrollably as she repeated the words that he had not heard. The tears rolled down her cheeks and she pressed her hand to her heart, her heart aching with pain. But Fiyero was no longer there to hear it. "You love her…." She repeated again, softly this time as she sank to the ground, no longer caring if anyone could hear her.
Lest wrinkled his nose at the smell that had assaulted his sense the moment they had stepped into the Warehouse district. The air was stale, a combination of rotten rubbish, fumes of unknown origin and unhygienic characters. Whoever who said that the nose would get use to a smell after a while was absolutely wrong.
He might be a fifth son, but he deserved better than this, he thought to himself, deserved better than this lousy position that his miserable father had bought a few weeks ago, claiming that he needed to prove himself. He did not see his elder brothers having to prove themselves before the old man gave them their own shops. Curse Father and his double standards. But Lest marched on with his fellow soldiers. They were on their way to capture the Wicked Witch of the West, and the arrest of Oz's top terrorist would prove beyond all doubts that he was the best among his brothers. He was sure that his father would look at him with different eyes when he went back decorated and rewarded.
The guards stopped in front of a condemned two-storey building coated with cobwebs. The captain halted them with a raise of his hand. Lest never liked him. The captain was too handsome, as if he spent hours in front of the mirror every day, and everyone knew that there was always a tradeoff between looks and brains. And of course he happened to be the fiancé of Glinda the Good. The Wizard was known for dotting on the petite blonde, and Lest had no doubt that it affected the Ozness' decision when it came to promotions. The blonde was still pretty for someone her age, but Lest always preferred his women younger.
The captain gestured for two of them to stay where they were. The rest stomped up the stairs.
The Wicked Witch of the West reached for her broom the moment the men came into the room. It was the first time Lest had seen the Witch, but there was no doubt who she was, with her wild unkempt hair and her hideous green skin. She wore a dirty black dress, and stooped slightly as if the evil deeds that she had committed across the years had twisted her posture. She darted her eyes around, taking in the enemies as she tightened her grip on the broom, her cooking forgotten. The bubbling of the soup was the only sound in the room. Lest took a quick look around the room. There were boxes and crates lying haphazardly around. He wondered which of them were used to keep her treasures.
Captain Tiggular was the first time to break the silence. He took a step forward, his gun raised.
"You're being surrounded, Witch," he said, his voice firm. "It would be wise of you to surrender." Lest hoped that the Witch would fight back. It would definitely make things more interesting.
The Witch fixed her eyes on the captain and snarled, but the captain did not even flinch. Instead, he took out his cuffs and took another step forward, confident in his stride. She swung her broom to the low burning flame, letting its bristles catch fire before she swung a wide arc at the captain, forcing him back. Another thrust, and the captain's sleeve was on fire.
The Captain dropped his gun and cuff in surprise and tried to beat out the flames with his other hand, shouting for help. A fellow soldier, Lest had no idea who, saw a bucket half filled with water, and hurled its content at the captain.
He was not the only one who was drenched.
The Witch raised her twiggy hand, but she was not fast enough. The water came into contact with her skin, and she let out a shriek, of pain, of surprise. Her face sizzled, as if someone had pressed a hot tong to her skin. She clawed at her own face, screaming, perhaps a desperate attempt to rip out the water somehow and save herself. She stumbled backwards and overturned the pot. Her skin boiled and bubbled, just like the soup moments earlier.
Glinda paced outside the Throne Room. The Wizard was in the room with Madame Morrible and a pair of guards, waiting for the good news. She wanted to go in and wait too, but she knew that Morrible would frown on her frazzled attitude and the way she was wearing out the carpet. Her foot had started to swell from the sprain and she took off her heels. The guards stationed at the door had been giving her strange looks, but she did not stop. She could not stop. She knew that she would start screaming in frustration the moment she stopped moving.
It seemed like an eternity before she heard a shout from the courtyard. They were back. It was another eternity before Fiyero and a few members of the Guards appeared at the corridor. He was holding onto something, a bundle or something. There was a charred stick in his hand. No, not a stick, Glinda realized with a start. It was Elphaba's broom. All the men had a grim look on their faces and none of them noticed the blonde waiting outside the door. One of the guards opened the door for Fiyero and the men marched in, slamming the door behind them.
Elphaba. Where is Elphaba?
Glinda wanted to press her ear to the door, but the guards were there. She chewed on her nails, and continued to wear out the carpet.
Madame Morrible stepped forward the moment the men in green entered the room.
"I trust that you have brought us good news, Captain," she said.
Fiyero nodded.
"The Witch is dead," he confirmed, his face stoic.
"Splendid!" the woman clapped her hands with joy. "How did she die? A slash at the throat? A thousand bullets?"
"Died by her own stupidity, Madame," Fiyero said as he threw the folded bundle and the broom to the floor. The soggy clothes dropped onto the floor with a muted clank and slowly unfurled itself as if it had a life of its own.
"The rumors are true," the captain explained. "She's allergic to water. We cornered her in her hideout, just as we planned. She tried to burn me in a bid to escape. One of my men hurled water on us to put out the fire. She burnt right in front of us, and melted into a puddle. She was screaming up till the last moment. There's nothing left except for her clothes and some sticky green substance. She is so toxic her poison even melted her own bones. It was not a pretty sight." Behind him, the rest of the men shuddered as they recalled the last moments of the witch, the screams that would plague their dreams for nights to come.
Madame Morrible cackled. "Great job, Captain. You have gotten rid of the terror of Oz. The whole of Oz are grateful to you. The Wizard is very proud of you. Aren't you, your Ozness?"
"Your Ozness?" Morrible asked again when there was no reply from the ruler of Oz. She turned back to look for the old man.
The Wizard was no longer seated on the throne. Instead, he had knelt on the floor, next to the evidence brought back by the Captain. But he was not looking at the cloak. Neither was he looking at the broom. Instead, he gingerly lifted up a corner of the soggy, sticky fabric before his other hand gently went in, as if he was trying to coax a wounded small animal from a cage, and retrieved an item that was under it. It was a green bottle, slightly larger than the palm of his hand, with scratches all over the place as if it had been handled far too many times. There was a faded label on the bottle, part of a word remaining.
He looked at the Captain.
"Where… where did you get this?" he asked, his voice and hands shaking.
Fiyero looked at the object in the Wizard's hand and shrugged.
"This must have been from the Witch's pocket. We don't have a body, but I thought that you would want some evidence so I took her cloak and the broom. It must have been in her cloak," he replied dismissively. "Let me have it, Your Ozness. It will not do if you are poisoned by her toxins." The captain reached out for the item, but the Wizard retracted his hands. He looked at the bottle, cradling it as if it was a baby.
"Your Ozness, it's over. No one can survive a melting. Not even Kumbrica can bring her back now," Fiyero said. Madame Morrible could not help but cackle again.
The old man looked at him again. "How old are you, Captain?"
"Twenty-six, Your Ozness," he replied without batting an eyelid.
"Twenty-six years. Twenty-seven ... Oh – " the Wizard suddenly let out a wail, and clutched the bottle tightly to him.
"Your Ozness?" Fiyero asked as he knelt down next to the Wizard. "Are you alright, Sir?"
Madame Morrible stepped forward.
"Your Ozness, I hope that these are tears of joy." She tried to pull him up by his arm but the Wizard pulled away. "Stop this pathetic show of wea-," she admonished him, but the man jerked his arm back again and stood up quickly.
"You! You lied!" He pointed an accusing finger at her. "Who is she actually? You said that she is the perfect candidate. You said she is an outcast. That she has no father, no mother, no family and no friends. That the world is better off without her!"
"You're being absurd, your Ozness. I have never lied to you!" Madame Morrible's voice rose slightly.
"Then what is this?" he shook the bottle in front of the press secretary threateningly.
Morrible could have seen something in the Wizard's eyes, for she balked.
"It's just an ordinary bottle. You can find it anywhere!" She insisted.
The Wizard took a step toward her, and the Press Secretary unwittingly took a step back. "Ordinary bottle?" he asked, his knuckles white from its grip.
"She must have stolen it!" She said.
"Where is she from? Who is her mother?"
"It doesn't matter. What matters is that she is the epitome of evil! She is the Wicked Witch."
"I'm not going to repeat again. Where is she from? What is her mother's name?"
The captain was the one who answered. "Her mother is Melena Thropp, Your Ozness, from Rush Margins, Munchkinland. She was married to a man named Frexspar the Godly, a travelling Unionist minister. She gave birth to her first-born twenty-six ago, a girl born green, green like sin." He replied without a trace of emotion. Morrible shot him a look, but he ignored her.
"Mel – " the Wizard stopped. "You knew it! You knew who she is! And yet you - " he snarled at Madame Morrible.
The woman stood firm. "You begged me for help so many years ago. To stop her from telling the truth. Does it matter who she is? She's the perfect candidate to unite Oz! She's been performing her role so well for so many years. All this hard work and you are not the least grateful! Have you ever thought of where you would be without me? Who cares about a night of fun you had decades ago?" she retorted.
"So you knew!" He raised his fist at her furiously. "Guards, arrest her!"
But Madame Morrible was too quick for them. She pushed the first guard who approached her toward Fiyero and ran for the door. The guard crashed onto Fiyero and the two men fell to the ground. The captain lost precious moments as he tried to get out from under the other guard, and the press secretary got the head start that she badly needed. She sprinted to the door and was out of the room within seconds. The door swung close and the men lost sight of her for a moment.
Fiyero rushed after her and wrenched the door open, half expecting the hallway to be empty. But what greeted them was a strange sight. Madame Morrible had fallen in a heap, her limbs splayed in all directions. Next to her, Glinda the Good retrieved her high heel before she smoothed out the creases on her skirt. The two guards quickly pulled up the older woman and twisted her arms behind her before they handcuffed her.
Glinda the Good looked at the men staring at her, her eyes wide with innocence.
"I'm sorry, Your Ozness. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I thought I heard you calling for the guards to arrest her. These doors aren't as soundproof as they ought to be, Your Ozness." She gave a soft tsk. "I'll arrange for them to be replaced within the week."
Fiyero could have kissed her at that moment.
Fiyero and his men escorted Madame Morrible to Southstairs, where she was placed in an isolation cell. There was no windows in her cell, and no opening except for a narrow slot where food would be delivered. Morrible was the one who had come up with the policy to burn metal cuffs on the wrists of prisoners who knew sorcery to prevent them from unlocking the cuffs, and Fiyero watched with grim satisfaction as the same was done to her. She would be held in the cell until the trial started, and if Fiyero had his way, she would be sentenced to death.
The Wizard was still in the Throne Room when the Captain returned to the Palace. The old man sat on the steps to his throne. Glinda was with him, speaking to him in a soft voice.
They looked up when the door opened, their faces expectant.
"It's over, Your Ozness," Fiyero reported. "Madame Morrible is now in Southstairs. Tomorrow we will start to prepare for her trial. I have instructed my men on what to do. I will like to take my leave now if you don't mind. There are plenty of things to do."
The Wizard gave an audible sigh, and Fiyero could not help but notice how gaunt he was, how much he had aged in the past few hours. One hand was clutching the green bottle, and the other, the broom.
"Captain, do you know who she is?"
"Who?"
The Wizard raised the bottle slightly.
"I met a woman once. Her name is Melena. She was married to this man who was never around. She was so beautiful. She had this laughter that sounds like bells in the wind. Twenty-seven years ago, I was just a travelling salesman, going from place to place, selling things that nobody wanted. She welcomed me into her house. And she was so lonely…" the man sobbed into his hands, and Glinda patted his shoulders.
He composed himself again and continued.
"I gave her this bottle. Green elixir, I called it. It's a drink, an aphrodisiac. The girl is mine, Captain. You can say that the girl could be fathered by another man, that there's nothing to stop her from having other men. I don't know. Maybe there are other men. But she is my daughter. This," he raised the bottle again. "This is the proof."
"And now, because of my stupidity, I have condemned her to a life of hell! I was not there to witness her birth and I was not there when she grew up." The Wizard sniffed. "I was the one who agreed to Morrible's idea of using her as a common enemy. I was scared, so scared that I was not good enough for the people of Oz, scared that they will see through my façade. Scared that they will not want me once she told them that I was a fraud. And it is just one girl. One outcast to unite the whole of Oz. It sounded like such a great idea at that time." The man paused. "I didn't mean all those things. I didn't mean to harm the Animals. I don't mean to harm her... if only I can turn back time… I don't want to rule. I don't want the power and the riches. I just want my daughter alive again…" The Wizard buried his face into his hands, his shoulders heaving.
Fiyero looked at the man in front of him. He got to go. He really got to go before it was too late. But the sight of the remorseful man rooted him to the spot. He remembered how the Wizard had mentioned his regrets previously, that he was so busy ruling Oz that he never got married and never had children of his own, and how much he envied people who had experienced the joy of parenthood. He remembered the few occasions when he had accompanied the Wizard out of the Palace and watched him as he talked to the people in the streets. He had a soft spot for children, and he would distribute candies to them and sang and danced with them. He always returned to the Palace with a smile on his face and referred to those occasions fondly long after that.
Fiyero Tiggular made up his mind. He knelt down and put a hand on the Wizard's shoulder.
"Your Ozness," he said when the Wizard looked up. "It may not be too late."
Elphaba had been crouching in the same position for so long. Night was falling, and she could no longer see her outstretched fingers in the dark. The rays from the setting sun turned the room above the trapdoor a brilliant golden red, but none of that light streamed into the hiding place below. The place was small, its length less than that of an arm span, its depth barely enough for her to sit upright. She knew that she could leave now, but she also knew that it would be safer to wait till it was totally dark so that she could leave undetected. There was no reason to take more risks than what was necessary.
Elphaba blew at her arm, at the blisters that had formed, trying to ease the sting that she felt, knowing that her skin was now hot to the touch. There were blisters on her face too, and her face was numb. There was no way she could cover her face without arousing suspicion, and she knew that the burns that formed immediately when the water touched her skin would be witnessed by the soldiers; it would add a convincing touch to the act. The cloak that was made by Milla, painstakingly coated with beeswax, had repel most of the water, but it was not totally waterproof. She could feel the blisters forming the moment the water soaked through the fabric, but the show must go on, and she did not dare to reach for the towel until Fiyero and his men had left, afraid that even the slightest sound would alert them to her hideout under the trapdoor.
She closed her eyes at the thought of Fiyero. She would be lying if she were to say that she had not expected him to appear. He had been so obsessed in his hunt for the Wicked Witch of the West that she was sure he would lead the team if he was informed of her reappearance. She had nearly faltered when he first stepped into the room. She had nearly called out but his name, but his ice-cold eyes had stopped her. There was not a flicker of recognition on his face when he had trained his gun at her and called her Witch and demanded that she surrendered.
The man whom she loved, the father of her unborn child, determined to kill her.
She drew in a shaky breath. Perhaps it was all for the best.
Somewhere, a piece of wood creaked. Elphaba tensed. Silence followed, and she was about to dismiss the sound when she heard it again. The sound of a plank of wood groaning under a heavy weight. The sound repeated again, and then again. Successive groans that was broken by the stomp of a boot. No, not boot. Boots. She could hear the hushed voices growing louder.
She was no longer alone.
The sounds stopped at the top of the stairs, and light streamed into her hiding place through the small gaps between the wooden planks. They had entered the room.
"So why are we here?" a voice asked.
A second voice laughed. "Are you scared?"
"Of course not," the first voice replied, but his voice said otherwise. "This place may be haunted though," he added after a while. "After all, someone just died here."
The other man scoffed. "Oh come on. There is no such thing as ghosts. And witches don't have souls, so they can't turn into ghosts. And even if there is, I will shoot the ghost into pieces. Boom!" He imitated the sound of a gunshot badly before he laughed.
"Then let's go. There's nothing here."
"You can go if you are scared. I'm looking around."
"What for?"
"Oz, you are really stupid. She has been plundering the rich. She must have hidden her loot somewhere, so why not here? Can you imagine how rich we'll be if we find those stuff? I'm talking about gems, gold, money. I'm not going to split them with you if you choose to stand there like a block." Above her, the man crossed the room. His companion hesitated, but the promise of hidden treasures was too great to resist for long.
There were only a handful of things in the room, yet it seemed to take the two men a long time to go through them. Elphaba heard the sounds of hands rifling through the items in the boxes, boots kicking at crates, items being swept off the walls. The men even knocked on the walls in search of hidden compartments. She heard a stream of curses when the men were not able to find anything, and one of them kicked at the wall in frustration.
She cast a worried look at the trapdoor just as a pair of boots stepped over it. They stayed there for some time before they moved away again. She breathed a sigh of relief, and the boots were back again, stomping on the trapdoor.
"It's hollow."
Sweet Oz.
She knew that it would be fruitless to hide from them. The place was too small. There was no corner for her to hide. It took them so long to find the spring mechanism that she began to hope that they would give up and go away. And then she heard the familiar chink sound and the trapdoor opened.
Light flooded in, blinding her momentarily.
She stood up to her full height and opened her hands wide, trying to make her look bigger than she really was. "What do we have here?" She cackled. "Two fools tired of living?"
The soldiers shrunk back. One of them took one look at her seemingly melted face and bolted down the stairs. She expected the second soldier to follow suit but a twitch of his mouth told her that he would not be so easily scared off. Her suspicion was confirmed half a second later when his expression turned vicious and he swung his rifle at her without warning. She tried to duck but the trapdoor folded behind her hampered her movement. The gun struck against her blistered face and she slammed painfully against the side of the opening. The world spun around her.
"I knew it!" the man declared triumphantly. "I knew there is something fishy about the whole thing. Melted by water? My foot!"
Elphaba tried to stand up, but the soldier kicked at the opened trapdoor and the wood slammed down on her lower back, pressing her stomach against the frame of the trapdoor. A sharp pain shot through her torso and she fought to suppress the cry that was at her lips. The green girl pushed herself up and crawled out of the space painfully. She lie on the floor, gasping painfully as she waited for the pain to fade away.
A maniacal laughter above her reminded her that she was not alone.
Elphaba looked up and saw a gun pointing at her.
"One wrong move, Witch, and I will blow a hole in your head. I'm sure the Wizard can still identify you without your head." The soldier sniggered as he cocked his gun.
A carriage sped through the streets, travelling much faster than it should. It rocked badly, made worse by the potholes that dotted the streets in this area. There were four men in the carriage - the Wizard, the Captain of the Guards and two of the Wizard's bodyguards. The Wizard held on tightly to the hand grip above the door, his eyes wide with terror. One of his bodyguards' face was turning green.
Yet Fiyero felt that they were not fast enough.
He had wanted to go alone, but the Wizard had offered his carriage, which was the fastest vehicle that they had, on condition that he went along. Fiyero agreed without hesitation; he did not want to waste precious time arguing. The moment they were in the carriage, the captain had instructed the Wizard's bodyguards not to harm the Wicked Witch under any circumstances, and he knew from their looks that they thought that he had a mental breakdown. The looks remained even after the Wizard had told them the same thing.
Fiyero knew that the worst was over. Madame Morrible had been arrested and the Wizard was ecstatic when he found out that she was not dead. But there was that uneasy feeling that was growing in the pit of his stomach, as if something would go wrong, as if he had missed out something crucial. He looked at the buildings speeding by and wished that the carriage could fly.
The carriage suddenly halted to a stop when they were two streets away from the warehouse district. He looked out of the window, and swore at what he saw.
There was a cart, hitched to an ox and stacked sky high with chopped timber that was most probably used as firewood. The ropes that had secured the wood had snapped, sending the timber to the ground. There were two men trying to pick up the logs, but their progress was slow, and the street was unpassable until they were done.
Fiyero gave strict instructions for the bodyguards to stay with the Wizard and leaped out of the carriage. He started to run the moment his feet touched the ground, picking up speed as he went. His heart hammered hard, both from the exertion and from the unexplained fear that grew by the second. The corn exchanged seemed so far away.
The low-rent warehouse district was unusually quiet. The streets in the area was usually deserted after nightfall, but even then there would be shadows lurking behind the walls and in the alley. There was no way to explain the deserted streets when the sun was just setting, no way to explain the eerie feeling that seemed to hang in the air, as if the all the buildings were holding their breath, waiting for something momentous to happen.
He was at the foot of the stairs of the old corn exchange when he heard a shot. The Arjiki stopped in his tracks and stared at the stairs in disbelief. There was no mistake where had the sound come from.
No. He was not too late. He could not be too late. Please no. Please.
Elphaba!
He charged up the stairs, his heart screaming her name.
There was a lamp near to the door, lying on its side. The glass had broken, but the flame inside was still burning, providing enough illumination to light up its immediate surrounding.
Fiyero did not notice the splintered crate, the victim of a misaimed shot. He did not see the trapdoor, opened for all to see. He barely noticed the overturned boxes and crates, their contents spewed all over the floor. All he saw was one of his men, a man named Lest, the latest addition to his troop, giving Elphaba a kick at her side. The green girl curled into a fetal position and her hand went to her stomach instinctively. Her face was in the shadows, but he could see from the tense curve of her body that she was in terrible pain. The soldier spat at her, and then stepped over her body. He bent down to pick up something from the floor next to her.
A gun.
Lest looked up as he was about to stand up, and his eyes widened when he saw the captain at the door. Fiyero knew the exact moment when he remembered that his captain and he were no longer on the same side. The man pulled up a limp Elphaba easily with one hand and grabbed her in a chokehold when she struggled feebly with her eyes closed, his other hand pressing his gun against her temple. He opened his mouth, ready to issue his threat.
Fiyero pulled the trigger without a second thought. He did not need to hear what his man had to say.
The man jerked when the first bullet hit his shoulder, and he let go of the green girl. A second shot penetrated his chest, the blood darkening his dark green uniform. The gunshot echoed in Fiyero's ears, even as the man stumbled backwards, even as the Arjiki prince dashed towards the woman whose legs finally gave way.
He caught her just before she hit the ground.
Her eyes fluttered opened, glazed, uncomprehending.
Fiyero said the only word that was in his mind.
He watched as her eyes finally focused on him, when her mind finally processed the significance of that word.
Her name. Elphaba.
His queen. His love. The light of his life. The name of the girl that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. The reason that kept him up at night. The woman whom he would willingly give up everything for.
A badly blistered hand reached out tentatively, and her lips parted into a faint smile when her fingers touched the wetness on his cheek.
And then she was in his arms and it was all that mattered.