Detective Oz and the Case of the Hanging Munchkin
The clear, sunny day was not a setting for a scream of horror, nor a heart fainting with unspeakable dread. It is a fine day for laying on the warm grass and peeking images from whimsical clouds. A day for a cool drink of water after a simple workday. Such as sweeping segment of the Yellow Brick Road, which is what Jenza the Munchkinlander was doing when she saw the horrid sight, followed swiftly by a heart unprepared, and the consequential loss of consciousness. In the distance, a shadowy form dangles from a tree limb, their feet swaying in the wind as a blue farmer's hat drifts lazily to the ground below.
Far away in distance, but much closer in regard to how news travels, the report of this mystery event came before Princess Ozma. It was a quizzing matter that made Ozma think very hard. Surely this matter was something that required swift resolution. Ozma did ever-so-nearly consulting The Great Book of Records, but as the benevolent ruler she had to weigh out the needs of all subjects in the land, divided by the parties concerned, and multiplied by the most appropriate outcome possibility. With such thoughts swirling like a tornado in her mind, Ozma made her decision. She pulled a string that ran to the ceiling, through a number of walls, and finally terminated to a bell that hung in room 221-B. The humble abode of the Great Detective of Oz.
The detective had been granted a ceremonial name, and a royal title, and was often referred to unofficially as 'the marvelous' and 'the deductive' and even 'the great.' Since his coming to live in the palace he had mostly foregone his given name, and answered to the more colloquial moniker 'Detective Oz.'
"Greetings, young man." Ozma beamed at Detective Oz. Though the gentleman was eighty-seven years of age, she referred to him as young with utmost respect, Ozma herself being a fantastic age chronologically, if a mere fourteen years in appearance. "I hope you are well-rested, and that I am not dragging you away from some important study or experiment."
"Fret yourself not, Majesty. I am not distracted nor found without sleep. It is only idleness that wearies my bones."
Detective Oz wore a hat, jacket, shirt, tie and pants sewn from the finest fabrics in the country but fashioned in a way to look like common clothing at the detective's behest. Ozma had gently insisted that residents of the palace be dressed in the best material. The detective had argued that his worth was intellectual and not fashionable. The elaborately inornate garb was the common ground they had reached in the discussion.
"A strange matter from the Munchkinland. A farmer was noted to be in... parallel correspondence with a tree?" Detective Oz waited. while this news was troubling, there was bound to be more to warrant his inclusion. "The witness became senseless at the sight, but upon reawakening the scene was changed, and the farmer had disappeared, leaving behind only a mystery."
"There are layers to this event." Detective Oz said. "I am happy to be of service in this matter."
"You have my chariot and my authority on this mission, Great Detective. I know you will draw this to its conclusion." With that Detective Oz began the fair journey to the far Munchkinland.
The spectrum shift as the chariot crossed into the farmlands was beautiful to observe. The slow fade of green into blue in the grass and leaves, the flowers and houses and even the sunlight itself seemed to have a blue-ish hue. The stark yellow of the brick road made a nearly audible contrast to the surrounding countryside. Rumor spread fast, and soon munchkins were lining the road as the chariot rolled past. Detective Oz noted the faces impassively, before letting the window curtain fall back into place.
"A mystery. A curiosity. A drawing of the intellect." Detective Oz muttered to himself.
"A hanging Munchkin. What a scandal. This will surely be the talk for years to come." Matson the Fly said from Detective Oz's shoulder.
"Indeed. Regardless of what true outcome may be found." Detective Oz replied mysteriously as the chariot pulled to an easy stop.
With polite but firm resolve, the detective deflected attempts at questions. Everything around him fade to forgettable dullness as he approached the scene of the inciting incident. Removing a magnifying glass from his jacket, Detective Oz bent to examine the trampled grass, curiously noting a path of bootsteps leading from the road to the tree, and back again. On the ground was a farmer's abandoned hat and an overturned sitting stool. The tree itself had nothing to bare for a conclusion.
"Did they use the stool for the deed?" Matson wondered.
"This stool was indeed used to reach the branch, but I suspect another explanation is afoot."
Just beyond the tree the duo found a half-eaten banana.
"This just adds another mystery to be peeled away." Matson said.
"On the contrary. The more evidence that presents itself, the clearer the image becomes." He paused. "I doubt a mere hanging would be enough to break the No-Death enchantment. Yet if the farmer lived why leave the stool and hat behind?" Detective Oz tapped his pipe thoughtfully against his lip, then returned it to his pocket unlit. "This is a close community. Is anyone missing? Who is believed to be the hanging Munchkin?"
"A head count please." Matson buzzed about from bystander to bystander. "Is anyone missing or unaccounted for?"
"Where is Balc?" A voice from the crowd called out. Indeed, inside the brim of the hat was the name 'Balc' stitched. "He would be too self-conscious to wander about without his hat! Surely, he has become a walking dead man. A wandering curse on this community!" A spooked murmur had begun about the superstitious crowd of farmers.
Detective Oz did not fancy that the farmer, Balc, had taken to waltzing after his perceived ending. Not to say that a dead man walking was impossible, or even unheard of. Moreso that Detective Oz hadn't seen evidence of the death itself.
Righting the stool, Detective Oz stepped carefully on it. measuring the height of the branch in comparison to his body, then examined the branch itself. Nodding to himself, satisfied, he stepped down again. "Have any strange Animals moved in or passed through as of late?"
"Winged vermin, squatting in the sorceresses' old house." Another of the crowd said helpfully. "A cursed flying monkey."
"Sorceresses' house?" Detective Oz remembered something he had read from the Great Book of Records, about a sorceress who rode the winds.
"Back the path you came from." The same Munchkin said, pointing.
"Matson, if you please, go to sir Balc's home and retrieve him. And someone please accompany my partner with this hat. I suspect it will make things less complicated."
"What if we find a dead man?" Matson said.
"Does not a dead man appreciate a hat returned?" Detective Oz said. "I'll be visiting this flying monkey. It's not far back I believe."
"Follow the Yellow Brick Road." Someone said. it was, as always, sound advice.
The home of the sorceress had seen much better years. It was a depressing, washed-out shade of gray. The boards were buckling and splintering and grumpy seeming. Detective Oz opted not to enter in. Yet no more had he knocked when there was the sound of tired wood giving way' and the entire thing collapsed under the weight of his moderate knuckle taps. Truth be told, it went with less of a crash and more of an exhausted sigh.
"Mercy! Have mercy on me oh dreadful wizard!" A voice from the trees wailed. "I'll repay the banana and the hat. Only do not wreck me completely." A trembling winged monkey fluttered down to cower at Detective Oz's feet.
"Well. The last piece falls into place." The detective commented to no one. Then to the winged monkey, "if you accompany me back to the village, and honor your promise, perhaps I will let your life resume."
Upon returning to the village Detective Oz was not surprised in the least to find Balc alive and well, if a bit red-faced. "You were right once again, Detective Oz. But how did you put it together?"
"Elementar. No body, one set of boot prints, the average height of a munchkin vs the combined distance of the tree branch and the stool. The fact that Mr. Balc would be embarrassed without his hat, which was left behind. It all adds up to a loony larceny."
"I took the fruit and the hat. Mischief is just my nature." The monkey admitted. "I hung from one arm and my tail to enjoy the banana."
"While wearing my favorite hat you stole." Balc interjected.
"And causing one poor woman to faint." Detective Oz said. "Because you looked like a hanging person."
"I was so angry I tried to reach the monkey with my stool, but I fell when I heard a scream. I knew people would come look so I just went home to avoid the laughter."
"All of this could have been avoided if the monkey- I'm sorry, what is your name?" Matson said.
"Swingy-Dingy. I was just passing through. But as I said, my nature is towards mischief as my wings are to the sky."
"Then I hope you find a way to curb your personality quirks and become a productive member of society." Detective Oz said.
This was probably one of Detective Oz's simplest cases, since coming to live in the fairy country, but it was not his and Matson's last.
A/N This is my attempt to continue a tradition started by better chroniclers. A few Oz magazines feature a character referred to as "The Great Detective" another story actually calls him Sherlock Holmes, while yet another story calls him "Ozlock Holmes." Add to that I recently found an online story called "Detective Holmes." In this story Ozlock is his royal ceremonial name, but he simply answers to "Detective Oz"