Chapter Three: Stranger in the Wide-Brimmed Hat
"In the middle of the night the cook disappeared. There was consternation among all except Elphie, who didn't care."
--Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West
"I pity the community of the afterlife when they're asked to welcome you in. What a sour apple you always are."
--Sarima to Elphaba
(Wicked: The Life and Times of the Wicked Witch of the West)
It was Chistery who brought the scrap of paper to her. He was even more agitated than usual, sniffing around the old mirror she had set up in part of the tower, pawing at it, and rustling his wings. He was still only talking in the nonsense gibberish noises that Sarima's children had been trying to force out of him when they had been living in the castle-fortress of Kiamo Ko.
When they had been living.
But it was best not to dwell on the past, and the things that she could not change. She already knew that Sarima and her sons were dead. Slaughtered like animals and thrown into a filthy pit somewhere. She knew that Sarmia's daughter was alive, but kept as a prisoner by the Wizard, ruined physically and mentally, probably beyond all repair.
The Witch had failed to save anyone who meant anything to her. Her father, Frex, her sister, poor damaged Nessarose, her lover, Fiyero, her mentor, Doctor Dillamond, even her rival, Sarima.
Even the children.
All that she had left where Chistery, and the rest of her experimental winged-monkeys, and the Bees, and the Wolves.
So perhaps it was no surprise, given her own agitated and restless state, having just come back from Munchkinland to learn that a house had fallen on her sister (much to the rejoicing of those she had ruled and had un-lovingly nicknamed her 'the Wicked Witch of the East') and that Galinda—Glinda—had taken it upon herself to give the one thing remaining of her sister, and the symbol of her father's love, away to some drippy little farm girl.
At the same time, the Wizard had taunted her by displaying Sarima's daughter, a crippled slave, and threatening her. She knew of the Wizard's armies settled in the town of Red Winhill near Kiamo Ko, watching her every move.
She, who was of course the only one left to be a threat to the Wizard, especially now that Nessarose, who for all her tyrannical and fanatical faults was still a force against him—was dead.
Squashed.
Her poor, squashed cripple of a sister.
Pretty, dainty, perfect, Nessarose. Her father's favourite. Everyone's favourite. Saintly Nessarose. Devoted Nessarose.
Tyrannical Nessarose.
She saw her sister leaning—sinister, somehow, to see that crippled body, that armless form, leaning with perfect balance, all thanks to the enchantments Glinda had put on those special slippers—over the old woman's axe, casting a spell that would hack of the woodman's limbs off one by one so that he could never marry her daughter.
She saw her sister rounding up the Animals—creatures who were no less intelligent than Humans, capable of eloquent speech and philosophical thought and reason—like chattel, even lower than slaves, and trading with them, bargaining with them.
The Wicked Witch of the East.
The Wicked Bitch of the East, as she had prophesized to Fiyero one night long ago.
"I don't think she suffered," Glinda had told her. Glinda, who was always sticking her little powdered nose where it didn't belong. "It happened so awfully fast."
But there was no time to dwell on misfortune. So she buried the hurt deep within her, and continued working on the monkeys. They were making progress, the creatures had taken much better to flying than they had to speech, at least.
The Wizard's forces were going to come after her one day. One day soon. He wanted the book and the mirror, the two keys to the Other World that she had in her possession. To keys that she could not part with, not even for Sarima's daughter.
So perhaps it was no surprise that in this agitated, worried, apprehensive state, that the Witch was not in the best of moods to care about some mouldy scrap of paper that Chistrey kept waving in front of her, while tugging on her black shift and talking in its garbled squawking kind of voice. "Witch. Wetch. Which. Watch. Wretch. Wecks. Warcks…"
Her head was throbbing by this point as she swatted Chistrey to the side with the end of her broom. "Out! Out you idiot, can't you see I'm working!"
And she was working, pouring over her books and the herbs and vials of potions. She didn't know what she was trying to make anymore. For a moment, it all felt like too much. She had that annoying brat Liir, who was possibly her child or possibly not her child underfoot, not helping matters any by his constant infatuation with the soldiers positioned at Red Winmill, and Nanny, who was going a little soft in the head as she neared her centennial.
And she had her Bees, and her Wolves, and flying monkeys.
And the ghost of Sarima, blaming her for the death of her husband, and now the deaths of her sisters and her children, as well.
"Out!" she growled, but the monkey pushed the piece of paper into her hand clumsily, making strange hurried gestures that did seem a bit alarming.
In any case, she finally examined the paper.
The letters swirled and blurred and were difficult to make out, like all writing that came from the Other World. Like the writing in the Grimmerie, it was difficult to make out and took several minutes by candlelight for her to finally decipher it.
When she had, she sat in an old creaking wooden chair and stared at the tiny sheet utterly dumbfounded. She hadn't been sure she had had another child. As with Liir, she had grown unnaturally ill as—what she now confirmed had been pregnancy—had matured and those months were lost in a feverish haze of illness. Nanny had—perhaps fearing her increasingly unpredictable temper—only told her about the incident in the vaguest of ways.
Not that she had ever once asked for more details. The thought of children was as unappealing to her as it had ever been, and she slammed her hand down on the table, causing the vials to clatter and clank. She didn't need this now. She hadn't been through the damned mirror in two or three years. She had more important things to think about.
She had forgotten about the time differences and frankly not cared. She certainly didn't care about this. Not now. Not with a bloody war perched quite literally on her doorstep. Not with the fate of the Animals, and who knew how many others, hinged on her and her fight against the mad dictatorship of Oz and unification.
No, she certainly didn't care if some offshoot of hers was getting married. Especially not if he was a blundering idiot fool like Liir.
Why should she care?
No, no, she wasn't even the least bit curious.
Not the least.
"Where are you going now?" Nanny asked, as she grabbed her wide-brimmed black hat and heavy shawl, and the troublesome broom. "Are you just going to leave me and Liir all alone here, with those soldiers just waiting for an easy opportunity to ransack the place?"
"You're loosing your mind, Nanny. They already ransacked the place and killed everyone who was living here, and they already decided one feeble old crone and one annoying brat weren't worth the bother. Besides, I go out every night."
"Yes, and you put yourself in a good bit of danger, spying on those troops and sneaking around among the enemy lines. Do I have to remind you that your mother was a high born noble woman—"
"The Eminent Thropp, and no, not really," the Witch said, her face was cold and utterly without expression, so there was no way of knowing how she felt about her family's nobility, having seen her younger sister Nessrose as ruler and deciding quite against all the useless extravagance and annoying foppery for herself.
She could have gone to Munchkinland and taken it over for herself now that Nessarose was dead.
She could have. Just to annoy the Wizard.
But her work was in the Vinkus, at Kiamo Ko. And the old, now abandoned fortress, dark and dank and on the verge of being under siege, really seemed to suite her a lot better than the pomp and prettiness of Colwen Grounds in Munchkinland.
"But in any case, I'm not working tonight," she spoke now with something of a grimace, throwing the shawl about her shoulders. "Although that would probably be considerably more pleasant."
00000000000000000
Getting shot at by the KGB would have been considerably more pleasant. That was the Major's general opinion of the ceremony. Shenshen was wearing the most sickeningly elaborate dress he had ever seen in his life. It was a bit of a marvel that she could stand in that, let alone walk down the aisle. Even that bloody wanker Eroica would have had more taste than that.
Alright. That was not an acceptable thought. Klaus shuddered, and wished he could smoke because he really needed that comforting rush of nicotine at the moment, convinced that ninety-percent of his general discomfort must be the result of the presence of that relentless fop and his—relation—who was probably the only person on the face of the planet who dressed as bizarrely as the Earl did. Damn Glorias.
They were sitting somewhere near the back, he vaguely supposed—
--sixth row, on the left—
The Earl was wearing one of his ridiculous cream-coloured suits, and the Countess a rather voluminous blue gown that almost looked like a bunch of ballerina skirts mashed together. Why the hell were they there, anyways? He was getting a headache just thinking about it! And he really wanted that cigarette…
Shenshen was walking down the aisle with her father, who was an old friend of his father. He couldn't really tell, what with the veil, but for some reason he just fancied she was smirking. Not smiling, mind you. But smirking.
He really couldn't understand women.
The vows were passed in a sort of blur, before the aged priest spoke the words the Major had been dreading: "If there are any here who object to this union, let them speak now or forever hold their peace."
He had been waiting through the entire ceremony in a sort of anxiety, expecting that decadent pervert Eroica do something horrendous and humiliating when it came to that line—something tasteless and melodramatic, like making a big speech about how much he loved him, and damn it, but Klaus wouldn't even be able to punch him, not in the middle of the ceremony!
But…
But Eroica didn't say anything.
He waited. Listening hard. Hardly able to believe the perfect silence of the audience and not knowing at all why that
somehow
disappointed some small part of him.
But then something happened which ended up embarrassing both the Major and the Earl even more so than the scene that he had been dreading.
The Earl's mother rose, and began objecting!
Her high-pitched and rather shrill voice shot through the air, echoing off the castle walls.
"I object! How can you marry her—who is she anyways? What about my SON! Hasn't he proven his feelings for you! Hasn't he RISKED HIS LIFE for you! Are you BLIND!"
The Major stared with round eyes in utter disbelief. She was even worse than the money-bug, and, by the looks of things this wasn't a combined effort—Eroica looked positively mortified, which would have been highly amusing if it had been at any other time and place.
Then, before the gaping crowd, because at the moment everyone was too shocked to say anything in response, the Countess of Gloria pulled out a long silver—well for God's sake it looked like a bloody magic wand!—and pointed it squarely at the wedding cake.
And of course, nothing happened.
The Major wasn't sure whether to yell or laugh. Oh, he was outraged, that was for certain, but he had never been quite so outraged at anything so truly bizarre and stupid in his entire life, so for the moment, he just stood there, staring at the blonde countess, along with everyone else in the castle.
And then, there was a sort of GURGLE—THUD—POP like a giant balloon bursting, and Klaus felt something soft whack the back of his tuxedo jacket. A second later, the entrails of what had once been a very expensive and very large (wasn't his idea) wedding cake rained down on all of the assembled wedding guests—most of it splattering himself, the priest, and his bride.
Shenshen shrieked—louder than he had heard people who were being shot scream!—and began wavering back and forth like she would fall over or faint or something. He largely ignored her. Everyone was sputtering out bits of icing and—whatever other poisons those despicable sweet things were made of—and batting it off of their expensive formal dresses and suits. It hung in great globs from their hair and streaked their faces.
Klaus reached up a tentative hand and felt the gooey stuff clinging to his shoulder and cringed. "Alright. WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?"
"How did you DO THAT?" Eroica was shrieking at the same time, which the Major had to admit, surprised him, since he had assumed the damned thief was the one plotting everything.
It was also a very good question. How had she done it? Explosives in the pastry—hell, maybe. Could the KGB be involved? Anything was possible! And here he didn't have his magnum! Damn it! In a split second, the Major spun around to the table and grabbed the knife that was meant for cutting the now-exploded wedding cake.
"Whose involved! What the fuck is this! Answer me!"
An immense bang echoed through the castle then, as the great doors to the main hall swung open, then slammed shut again, with an echoing crash that had guests crying out in alarming, leaping to their feet if they weren't standing already, and spinning to look at the entrance.
"Oh, don't be upset by that," a voice that was loud, echoing off the high stone walls, spoke. A figure appeared slowly out of the dark shadows by the tall doors. A woman, or so it appeared, but she was completely covered from head to foot, not a bit of skin showing anywhere.
She wore what appeared to be a few layers of thick black skirts that ran almost all the way to the floor, and heavy worn black army boots. A thick shawl was wrapped around her shoulders, and an incredibly wide-brimmed black hat covered her head and cast her face into shadow, it rose to a crooked point at the top like a—like a witch.
"Glinda only ever was good at spells like that—signing a hundred invitations in one go, or making my sandwich explode in my face. You know, that sort of thing."
From the corner of his eye, Klaus saw the Countess Gloria gasp and stand up, backing into the seats of the people in front of her. But his gaze was fixed firmly on the newcomer. Everything that had happened thus far was too incredibly stupid to be believed. He wanted an explanation. And so he waited.
The cloaked figure gestured slowly with one gloved hand. "It's all just effects, nothing to worry about. There's nothing ontologically or philosophically interesting about magic."
"Oh how can you say that even now, Elphie!" the Countess shouted. "Do you even know what they're calling you now?"
"Do you know what I'm calling myself, Glinda?" the stranger snapped. "I call MYSELF a witch now! The Wicked Witch of the West, it has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Afterall, Nessarose got to be the Wicked Witch of the East. If people are going to call you a lunatic anyways, why not?"
"But you're not wicked!"
"How do you know? It's been a long time."
The Countess looked genuinely worried, scared, she bit her lower lip, eyes large and shining. "Oh, Elphie…"
"But I'm not here to deal with you!" the—Witch, or whoever she was—snapped. "I don't even know what you're doing here!"
"What I'm doing here—I—"
But the Witch was striding forwards now, pushing the few guests who were willing to stand in her path out of the way as easily as someone brushing aside bothersome insects. Klaus turned to his father, but the elder Eberbach had mysteriously vanished.
Before he could really contemplate the matter any, the Major heard a sort of strangled squeak from his bride, and turned back to see the Witch towering over her, and even without seeing her face, every minute gesture of her body seemed to radiate irritation.
"STOP. SNIVELLING. YOU. BRAT!"
Tears mucked with cake mixture were running down her cheeks, and one hand, with thick globs of icing sloping over it, reached towards the Major, who, out of instinct before he could stop himself, backed away from it.
The Witch groaned. "Well, this is certainly unpleasant, isn't it? I would say you make a lovely couple, but I really don't care for the way that particular shade of icing clashes with your hair."
Shenshen was, by this time, crying and hiccupping and sobbing hysterically. One of the bridesmaids called out to her in a high-pitched scream: "Oh, Shenshen!"
At which point the Witch's entire stance seemed to grow rigid, and her gloved hands twitched into fists. "Shenshen?" she repeated shrilly.
"It's just a coincidence," the Countess shouted, trying to manoeuvre her incredible gown around the chairs to make it to the Witch. "She isn't—"
"Think I don't know that?" the witch snapped. "I don't care! No Other World version of Pfannee or Shenshen is marrying my offspring!"
What?
With that, she pushed the snivelling girl out of the way with enough force to knock her off her feet and sprawling into a heap on the ground with the remains of the cake and two of her bridesmaids. She turned back to the Major. "Honestly, I really don't care about the whole 'motherhood' thing but—THAT—is just sick! I would have hoped someone with my blood in their veins would have better taste than that empty-headed tart. But than, you are Liir's brother, I guess I can't expect miracles."
By this time, the Witch was close enough that even with the enormous brim of her hat, Klaus could see something of her face, and a chill crawled instinctively up his spine. Her skin—her flesh—was unnaturally green. Not just a tinge or a shade, like seasickness, but a pure lustrous emerald green.
"What…Who are you?" he had attempt to demand, but it came out simply as a question, the knife in his hand completely forgotten. She simply gave him a cold, dismissive, look.
"I came here to see someone, and since he doesn't seem to be here, I better be leaving. I have work to do, and no time to waste on this foolishness,"
"Elphaba!" Countess Gloria cried, finally standing before them, her mass of blonde curls somewhat dishevelled, bits of cake splattering the skirts of her dress. "I never expected to see you here—I was afraid I would never see you ever again, anywhere!" she grabbed the Witch's arm as she turned to go. "Please, Elphaba! I'm sorry! Why won't you listen to me! I called to you that day in the forecourt of Colwen Grounds—I called back to you, didn't you hear me?" she sounded desperate somehow, pleading. "Elphie, please—"
The Witch jerked her arm away sharply. "I heard you. I had nothing more to say to you, not then, not now."
"Elphie—I'm sorry!"
"That's good," said the Witch coldly, "I hope you die sorry."
And the Countess fell back, stung, but Eroica had appeared just behind her. He looked from the Witch, to the Countess in a sort of perplexity, but for once in his life, said nothing. The Major fished a great glob of icing out of his hair and hurled it to the ground in absolute disgust. "I don't know who you—either or you—think you are, but—"
"I told you, I have to go," the Witch said decisively, "now that I have, at least, put a stop to this nonsense."
She brushed past them, Glinda refused to look up. Eroica seemed utterly lost. He turned to the Major, looking too confused to have been an accomplice. "Uh…sorry and all that, I suppose."
The Major snorted. "Yeah, I bet you are,"
"Are you just going to let her go? She said she was your—your mother, didn't she?"
"She's a psychopath."
"Yeah but—"
"My mother is dead."
To his credit, the thief actually fell silent. For a moment.
Then he turned and went after her himself!
And because—well, for reasons he wasn't sure were worth articulating—Klaus went after him.
"Hey!" Lord Gloria called, catching up to the Witch and grabbing her arm. "You can't just—"
She turned part way back to look at him, and he noticed the same unearthly green skin that had made the Major's skin crawl, and it stopped the rest of the words in his throat. She stared at him, and suddenly he saw in her cold, hard yet penetrating gaze—"You really ARE Klaus' mother!"
She blinked. "Klaus? Is that his name?"
"I—yes. You didn't even know?"
"I was never keen on maternal instinct or whatever it is called," she said offhandedly. "You seem familiar. You remind me of someone. He's dead now."
By now the Countess had caught up to them, and she moved between the Witch and the doorway. "Are you really going to run off so quickly, Elphaba?" she asked, but this time, her voice was quieter, more subdued. "Even with the Wizard's soldiers just waiting for you in Red Winmill? Why go back to the Vinkus at all?"
The Witch glared at her. "You wouldn't understand, Glinda. You were always too busy with your jewels and dresses and ruby castles to appreciate the suffering you saw all around you—the wars, the rebels, the tyrants, the dictatorships, you were content with your few acts of charity a month."
"But they're going to kill you!"
The Witch's face was hard and expressionless.
"Who is going to kill you?" the Major asked. "And where is this—Vinku?"
"It's in another world—you wouldn't understand, and nor should you concern yourself with it!"
Lord Gloria, who had drifted away from them for a minute, returned, looking worried. "Well, whatever's going on, someone's called the police, I don't think we should discuss this here."
"I don't think we should discuss this at all!" snapped the Witch.
"I didn't know you had one of the mirrors, Elphie, or I would have told you about Sir Chuffrey's," the Countess said. "I thought you would scoff at it—you scoffed at your own father when he talked of other worlds!"
Suddenly, the Earl gasped.
"What is it?" the Major demanded, mostly because he wanted something to deal with that he effectively could deal with.
"We're not—we're in the attic," the Earl murmured.
"Don't be stupid we're in the hall—" the rest of the words caught in his throat. They were indeed standing up in the old creaking ill-lit attic of the Schloss Eberbach.
"Major—do you—uh,--remember—walking up to the attic?"
The German's uncomfortable silence was answer enough, and the thief shivered.
"It's the power of the Mirrors," Glinda noted. "I…"
"You're not all coming back with me," Elphaba growled.
"Oh, I don't see why we have to go back at all!" Glinda said. "In a lot of ways this world is so much nicer than Oz, Elphie, you really must give it a chance! Don't go back to the Vinkus!"
"Let go of me!"
"But I'm not—"
They all saw the long silver tendril of crystal mist that was wrapping itself around Elphaba's upper arm. Even the two witches stared at in dumb amazement.
"Oh, Elphaba! It's got me too!" Glinda cried a moment later, noticing the mirror wrapping itself around her waist. "What is it? It's never done this before! Elphie!"
Klaus felt the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as he watched the strange mist encircle the two women. And then Eroica cried out in surprise as the mist twisted around his ankle, as well! The Witch and the Countess were already vanishing, as Eroica slid to the floor.
The Major was simply too stunned to do anything, not that he was certain there was anything he could do.
And a second later all three of them had vanished.
To be continued in Chapter Four: The Opposite Direction