A/N: Keep your eyes peeled, kids! A couple of juicy clues pop up in this chapter!
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For the time being, we would humour Miss Glinda and do our best not to be alarmist. However, I could see instantly that Holmes was thirsting to know what details she was attentive to. Undoubtedly, I was curious as to how she had to come to be in so strange a place, and could not help my thoughts from wandering back to her unusual scepter.
"Miss Glinda, perhaps you would be kind enough to provide Dr. Watson and myself with some further information? I assure you, it is of the utmost importance." Holmes said smoothly. It was well in his nature to easily remove himself from the emotions of moments before, and it would seem that northern witches did nothing to hinder this.
"Why, Mr. Holmes! There is so much for you to discover in Oz! Any questions you ask me would never do our kingdom the justice of seeing it!" Miss Glinda had a very delightful way about her; in so much as she never seemed to stop intoning her voice with grandeur. Every word that fell from her lips was meant to be more splendid than the last.
"How terribly patriotic of you. My questions do, however, refer to a radius of no more than thirty feet. Pertaining specifically to the recent death of the young woman on the toadstool," Holmes somewhat unceremoniously motioned towards the ghastly corpse with his thumb, "You have, no doubt, already noticed her presence."
"Oh my, of course! That is – was – the Wicked Witch of the East! You must have killed her when the house dropped down! Don't feel too badly, though. I am absolutely positive the Munchkins will be pleased." Here, Miss Glinda began to look at a lower line of sight, tilting her head to peer around the shadows.
"Come out, come out," she cooed in the direction of the bushes, "there's no need to be afraid of Mr. Holmes and his friend."
From various hiding spots, unseen nooks and crannies amidst the sugared foliage, emerged what would be known to us as the Munchkins. A Quaint people of diminutive stature; rather like a well-grown child of ten or so in height. They wore bright and multicoloured outfits, favouring mostly a distinctive shade of blue.
Upon revealing themselves, the vibrant troupe seemed to organize themselves by caste. The upper echelon standing to the audient side of Holmes, Miss Glinda and myself, seeming to expect some category of ceremony. Their leader, made obvious by a particular abundance of the aforementioned blue, took a step forward.
"Boq, these gentlemen have killed the Wicked Witch!" Miss Glinda smiled brightly. I recall feeling briefly appalled with the bright and cheerful mood the girl had taken towards an apparent homicide. This was immediately compounded by her insistence that Holmes and I were somehow responsible.
"Hooray!" The Munchkins called in chorus, throwing their hats in the air and immediately engaging in rowdy celebration. They sang songs and joined hands, spinning in a ring-around-the-rosie, some even climbed about the candy trees with tankards of lager. Holmes and I stood amidst this, as Miss Glinda nodded her head side to side releasing the occasional giggle at the merriment.
"Ding-Dong the Witch is dead!" Their exultant chant went - a disturbing memento mori sung like a child's nursery rhyme.
"Cease and desist this hideous Danse Macabre immediately!" Holmes projected with ease of a seasoned actor, and all at once the little men froze mid-action to stare at him.
"But Glinda! You said we had nothing to fear of these men!" The one known as Boq cried with much panic marking his face and voice. I felt slightly compelled to tell the Munchkins that Holmes was probably more troubled by them than they by him.
"Of course there is no reason to fear them! I simply must have forgotten to tell silly Mr. Holmes that he had killed a wicked witch…"
"No, Miss Glinda, you did not forget to mention that incredibly relevant tidbit," Holmes rolled his eyes, "You have also championed your theory that Watson and I had some sinister role to play in all of this."
Here, Holmes paused and began checking his pockets for something. The Munchkins and Miss Glinda stood in awed silence at this tall, imposing fellow; his icy eccentricities far more intimidating than they were able to cope with.
"My pipe, Watson! Gone! Tell me, do you have a cigarette?"
"I'm afraid not Holmes…" I confessed tentatively, after searching my own clothing. After close examination, it was discovered that all of my pocketed belongings were missing. Including my Eley's No. 2 revolver.
"Damn! How I hate this blasted Oz!" Holmes swore loudly, stomping his foot. It was this juvenile display of frustration that, through shaking the apparently artificial ground, caused a much larger vibration than expected. Extending so far as the toadstool where we had carefully placed the First Witch.
The body slumped to the floor, causing the right hand to jostle and reveal that the victim was gripping an object of some considerable size. Holmes quickly dropped to his knees and, with refined precision, carefully opened the rest of the hand.
"Miss Glinda…" Holmes called, standing back up and turning towards the young lady, "Have you ever seen this before?" He held before him a cabochon-cut ruby no smaller than a ripe plum. A truly impressive gem, shockingly opaque though glinting with an almost perfect asterism; it had been set in an ornately carved silver cone that looked to have been detached from something.
"Why! It's the ruby from the Ruby Walking Stick!" Miss Glinda answered, clasping her hands together joyously as the Munchkins cheered.
"Stop that." Holmes instructed the crowd harshly.
"You will have to keep that, Mr. Holmes. As a reward for landing your house on the Wicked Witch! The rest of the stick is bound to be around here somewhere!" She indicated the vicinity with her star-topped scepter.
"Neither myself nor Watson had any role to play in this poor creature's existence prior to the discovery of her corpse! How often have we told you this! The victim was killed by a means completely separate of being crushed. Her death was obviously due to compression of the larynx as well as the carotid arteries and jugular veins; causing both asphyxiation and cerebral ischemia. In other words - strangulation. Watson, you will no doubt note upon closer examination that the hyoid remains unfractured. Curious, wouldn't you say?"
"Most curious, Holmes."
"Oh! Why, I never! You're confusing the Munchkins something awful, Mr. Holmes!" Miss Glinda protested.
"Then perhaps the Munchkins ought to reform their education system. Furthermore, the fact that you would have Watson and I be made to think that this house crashed down from the sky is utterly preposterous and we shall hear no more of that nonsense. Is this understood?"
"Yes, Mr. Holmes." It was then that Miss Glinda became an entirely different reflection of herself, as her formerly smiling countenance withdrew into melancholy and her eyes glistened with tears. The Munchkins grew instantly dismayed with her amendment of expression and all at once the whole congregation began to weep loudly.
I escorted Miss Glinda to the stoop of the fallen house, where we then sat down. I produced my handkerchief for her, and attempted to comfort the poor girl. Holmes had taken to being monstrously harsh to both her and the little Munchkins, though I could understand why. He was not the sort to bend to fairy stories, and the constant demand on him to quiet his practical and scientific mind was causing him to be irritable. Not to mention extremely bad-mannered.
"Is this rest of the stick?" His voice called from down in the cellar.
Miss Glinda rose quickly, dabbing her checks and hurriedly smoothing her voluminous salmon-pink skirt. She and I both headed towards the open cellar doors, and looked own to see Holmes holding a narrow black cane with a silver claw on the bottom.
"Yes, yes! There it is! Oh, do put the ruby on top Mr. Holmes!" Miss Glinda begged, seeming to be well or her way back to her cheerful disposition.
"Why?" Holmes enquired of her, hoisting himself up to ground level with a somewhat brusque display of acrobatics.
"Oh, you are being so difficult, Mr. Holmes…" Miss Glinda sobbed, wringing my handkerchief between her elegantly feminine hands.
"Just put the ruby back on the stick, Holmes!" I demanded.
"Very well," he conceded, and reattached the stone. "I was merely curious as to why she was being so insistent. I had no intention of making her visibly upset."
"Dr. Watson, you must make certain that you and Mr. Holmes have the Ruby Walking Stick with you at all times while you are in Oz! Keep it tight to you!" Miss Glinda begged of me, clutching my jacket lapels with the desperation of the truly frightened.
"Certainly, my dear, but whatever for? It seems such a gaudy trinket to carry around, and besides which, Mr. Holmes and I intend to get back to Brighton as soon as possible…"
"Oh, you must carry it with you, Doctor! You must, you must!"
"Now, now Miss Glinda," Holmes soothed in a strictly calculated manner, "there is no need for you to work yourself up so much. Perhaps if you were to calmly tell both myself and Watson everything you know…"
"I can't! If you want to know more - you'll have to go and see the great Wizard of Oz!"
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A/N: I had to change the slippers to something a little more masculine, and I'm intending to use the Ruby Walking Stick as a heavily plot-relevant accessory. Even more so than the brilliant deus ex machina of Dorothy's shoes.