Author's Note: I'm really going to try to get at least one more update on everything before I leave for New York in a week….but I'm in shows all next week so it's possible I won't. Just to let you know. TEN DAYS TIL I SEE WICKED!!!

Chapter 22

"It's…huge…" said Boq, staring at the building in awe.

Glinda snorted.

"It just looks huge to you because you're so little."

Boq glared at her.

"You're in no position to talk about height!"

"Height hit hot," said Chistery, jumping from Elphaba's shoulder to Fiyero's head.

Fiyero plucked the monkey from his head and handed him back to Elphaba, who tickled his stomach. Chistery gave a series of high-pitched yelps and wrestled himself free, hovering a few feet out of Elphaba's reach. Igitur glared at him, then knelt down and picked up a small rock. He stared at Chistery for a moment, then hurled the rock in his direction.

"Hey!" shrieked Elphaba, whirling to face the old hermit.

Chistery rolled in midair and made a noise that sounded for all the world like laughter. He flew over to Igitur and zoomed around the old man's head as if challenging him to throw more rocks.

"A pest it is!" shouted Igitur, turning dizzily in circles, trying to avoid the little beast. "Killed it will get us!"

"Stop it!" shouted Elphaba, "Stop, both of you!"

Chistery turned and nose-dived at Elphaba's shoulder, stopping just in time and landing with his arms around her neck. He stuck his head up over her shoulder and cocked his head at Igitur, giving him a condescending look.

Igitur glared menacingly and walked up to Elphaba until his face was just inches from hers. She did not flinch, but instead returned his gaze with equal steel.

"Punish it, you will!" growled Igitur.

Elphaba raised her chin, looking down at him.

"When he does something that deserves punishment I will not hesitate. Until that time, I beg you to stop provoking him. You are taking up unnecessary time with your complaining." She turned to Fiyero. "Come on. Let's go see if there's anyone around."

They ventured further out of the grass, Elphaba and Fiyero in the lead. Glinda and Boq hung back fearfully. Chistery sat on Elphaba's shoulder, preening his wings and looking quite self-satisfied. Igitur had sat down on a small mound of earth and was drawing things in the dirt with a stick and muttering irritably about Chistery being some sort of death omen.

A few yards away from the building a series of tents became visible. They were made of familiar brown linen, and looked dilapidated, almost as though they had withered in the heat of the sun. The ground here was still bone dry and cracked like old paint. It was hard and had the consistency of clay. This part of the Vinkus obviously had not had the benefit of the fierce rainstorms the group had encountered at Kiamo Ko.

"This place…" said Elphaba softly. "I've…I've been here before."

As they got closer, it became clear that the place was suffering not only from drought, but also from some sort of dreadful accident. What had appeared to have once been rows of cultivated land had been uprooted and whatever crops might have managed to grow in spite of the drought were utterly plundered. A few of the tents lay flat on the ground, and even the tall skeleton of the building was damaged.

"You there!" The group whirled in the direction of the voice. "Halt!"

A young man, hardly older than eighteen, was facing them, brandishing a deadly looking spear that was nearly taller than he was. He wore a shapeless brown tunic and had equally dark eyes and leathery skin.

"Of course," whispered Elphaba. "This is the Scrow camp. Or was."

Fiyero's eyes widened.

"You're right," he murmured, his voice tinged with a mix of awe and horror.

"Something…awful….must have happened here."

Elphaba turned back to the young sentry and raised her hands in a gesture of submission.

"We mean you no harm," she said calmly. "We are simply lost and looking for anyone who can help us."

The man narrowed his eyes at her suspiciously and swept his gaze over the group as if trying to gauge a potential threat. Finally, he took a few steps closer to them and beckoned with his spear.

"Come. I will take you to our leader."

Elphaba nodded and followed, expecting to be taken to Nastoya's cave.

"Elphie!" whispered Glinda urgently, tugging on her sleeve.

"What?" asked Elphaba, turning to face her blonde companion.

"Do you think she'll punish us?"

"For what?"

"Gerema was her daughter."

Elphaba sighed thoughtfully, then shook her head.

"When she sent Gerema with us she had to know it was risky. And besides which, Gerema sacrificed herself. It was hardly like we could have stopped her."

Glinda looked doubtful.

"Still…"

They came to an abrupt halt in front of a large tent a few feet away from the skeleton building. The young man held back the entry flap, and all but Igitur entered cautiously. The old hermit remained outside, refusing to budge from a spot on the ground that he'd found to sit on.

The inside of the tent was all but bare of any supplies of signs of life. At the very back was one rather large crate. A man made entirely of gleaming tin was seated on top of it.

"You," he said slowly, pointing at Glinda with one creaking arm. "You are in cooperation with her?" He gestured accusingly at Elphaba.

"It's not what you think," said Glinda firmly. "She's not what you think."

"I know what she is!" thundered the Tin Woodman, standing up. "And her sister. If it weren't for them I wouldn't be…" He trailed off, his voice breaking as though he were on the verge of tears. "I wouldn't be…the way I am!"

"Listen to me," said Elphaba calmly, "I'm sorry for anything my sister might have done. I never meant to harm anyone."

"A likely story! And how did you fool Dorothy into thinking you were dead? Some kind of spell? Brain washing?"

"No, you colossal piece of scrap metal! And now is not the time for that. What happened here?"

"I have no reason to tell you!" retorted the Tin Woodman, enraged.

"Elphie," whispered Glinda, "let me handle this. I've dealt with him before, and I think I can get him to listen to me."

"All right," said Elphaba reluctantly after a moment.

Glinda cleared her throat and stepped forward again.

"How did you become ruler of the Scrow?" she asked gently, "Where's Princess Nastoya?"

"Enslaved by the tiktoks, just like the rest of the world!" moaned the Tin Woodman. "I liked it so much here when I was here with Dorothy, I decided to come back since there was hardly anything left of the Emerald City. When I got here I found the camp plundered by those metal fiends! The poor people were desperate for a leader so…they elected me."

"The tiktoks are trying to enslave the Vinkus now?" asked Fiyero in alarm. "I thought they were only after us."

"It's worse than even that. They've enslaved the Gale Force now, too. They couldn't take this camp in one try, but I'm willing to bet they'll try again before I can finish building my fortress."

"Listen," said Elphaba, "maybe you can help us."

"Help you?" snorted the Tin Woodman.

"Yes, you animated junk heap," snapped Elphaba, "difficult as that may be for your hard head to fathom."

"Elphie!" said Glinda warningly.

"Listen, we want the same thing," said Elphaba coolly. "I want to be rid of the tiktoks as much as you do."

"Oh, so you can rule? You got rid of the Wizard, now you'll get rid of them and everything will be just dandy for you?"

"No!" said Elphaba, her voice rising in frustration. "I don't want power. I just want to be able to live in peace. Is that so much to ask?"

"The wicked don't deserve peace," retorted the Tin Woodman.

Elphaba flinched visibly, as though she'd just been slapped, and the fire went out of her eyes.

"That may be true," she said softly, "but at the very least I want peace for everyone else. That's all I've ever wanted."

Before the Tin Woodman could reply, they were interrupted by the sounds of a scuffle outside. There was a loud crash and what sounded like several cries of pain. The young sentry came dashing into the tent. The point of his spear was sadly chipped, and his tunic was ripped across the front. His hair was disheveled and he was breathing hard.

"Sir, we're under attack!" he gasped.

"By whom?" the Tin Woodman demanded.

"Gale Forcers, sir. Lots of them. We don't have the forces to survive another attack."

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