A/N: Sorry I took longer than normal. I have a bad cold. :(
I stole VHunter07's idea. I liked the imagery, and so expanded on it a little bit. But -See! See! This why you should review, because I write and update (almost) everyday! This whole story has been hot off the presses whenever I have a minute, so there! It totally makes sense to let me know your opinions.
Okey-Dokey. I bet you're all waiting for me to shut-up and get to the Tin Man.
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With some ferocity and purpose of intent, Sherlock Holmes struck onward. His eyes glued to the destination of the Saffron Path, the wheels of his cart squeaking loudly. The sharp pain in my leg grew fiery, and I grew unable to ignore it.
"Holmes! Slow down!" I called as I struggled to keep up. The Ruby Walking Stick clicked frantically against the yellow bricks, marking my fraught and hopeless haste. My friend's head snapped to my direction, and all at once his features removed themselves from obsession and grew somewhat sympathetic and remorseful. We stopped then, and I was able to sit myself upon the stump of a recently chopped down tree.
"I do fear that the air of this place is getting to me, Watson." Holmes murmured, almost as if he were talking to himself. He then climbed into our wheelbarrow and sat next to the scarecrow, looking at the object with some dismay.
"Your nose really isn't that impressive. Though, I must admit, I fear taking you to any exhibition of Roman statuary. Lest we loose you amidst the busts."
"What a cruel thing to say to someone, Watson!" Holmes clutched his heart dramatically, though beneath his display one could hear the tones of his sniggering laugh. "How well are you walking? Shall we stay the afternoon on the edge of this wood?"
"No, no. I shall be alright after a moment or two. Besides which, there is nothing I want more than to get out of here and back to our rooms on Baker Street…" I hesitated to share all that had been on my mind, but nonetheless felt obliged to discuss the situation with him. "What do you make of this Emerald City, old chap? I read once about a Chinese emperor who used to have his jewels turned into a powder so that he might drink them every morning. I believe it was said that he was striving for immortality, but the powders drove him quite mad. Perhaps the Wizard used emeralds to build his city, and in so doing released a similar dust into the air. It would explain why everyone has been acting so peculiar…"
"I don't know what you've been reading, Watson, but it sounds fascinating." Holmes replied off-handedly, resting himself so that his legs draped over the side of the cart and he laid his head upon the scarecrow's chest as one would lie upon a pillow. "Wake me when you would like to get moving again."
On any other occasion, I would have felt like a complete fool proposing that a stone so rare as an emerald had been used in architectural purposes; but the very existence of the enormous ruby that had been thrust into my care gave me strange new outlooks on the potential eccentricities of Oz. Such inordinate amounts of wealth had gone into its creation, such mania and passion that I would be surprised by nothing save the fact that its owner and creator had not gone bankrupt.
A soft breeze swept over us from the direction of the cornfield, a breeze both cool and welcome. I was grateful for this, as there was something terribly oppressive about the large golden sun that hung above us.
"Watson!" Holmes whispered sharply as he bolted upright, "Do you hear that sound?"
"What sound?"
"Shhh!" Sure enough, there was a soft low whistle to the likeness of someone exhaling upon a lead pipe.
"Whatever could it be?" I mused aloud as Holmes once more took up the handles of his wheelbarrow.
We walked someway into the woods, allowing our ears to guide us, when we came to another depiction of the human form. Only this time it was nothing to look like anyone specific, so much as I could discern.
"My word! An automaton!" Holmes marveled, circling the silent and metallic gentleman. "It appears to be made mostly of tin, which is an excellent material for such a gadget. It's intended to be a further advancement of the marvelous Steam Man – created in '65 by one John Brainerd. Oh, dear. It appears some fool has made its joints from iron. The steam it produces has caused it to become quite rusted…"
"Here, Holmes! You're not proposing that this is anything more than a statue!" I couldn't believe what excitement he was investing into the object. It stood several inches shorter than myself, its body lean and narrow save a chest that at once reminded one of a cylindrical stove or water tank. The joints were indeed quite rusted, and connected the limbs to the body much like the gaps in a suit of armour.
"Indeed I am, Watson! He is to be like a grand clockwork man, the type one finds in championed often as a marvel of technology. The advancement of such things is the obsession of the brilliant inventor Rudiger Ozma, a man who devotes his life entirely to science. Notable for his lunatic idiosyncrasies and financial genius. Born in Munich."
"The Wizard!" I gasped, and observed the mechanical man more closely.
"Precisely, Watson!" Holmes smiled broadly, inspecting every detail of the Tin Man. "Really quite marvelous…"
"But what would this Ozma chap want with you, Holmes?" I wondered, taking my turn to examine the mechanical being.
"No doubt a facet of the mystery that will become as clear as crystal, or perhaps diamond, once we reach the Emerald City." Holmes tapped the chest of the Tin Man with the knuckle of his index finger.
"Aha-ha-ha!" He exclaimed as he opened a small panel on the Tin Man's back. "Oil can!"
"Oil can what?"
"Don't be childish. There is an oil can here," here he held it out demonstratively, "there also seems to be a set of instructions. Perhaps we can get him up and running!"
"Why? I'll let you tote a scarecrow around with us, but I must draw the lines somewhere…"
"What's wrong with you? You don't want to see the future of science spring to life before your very eyes? That's sad, Watson. Have you no heart?" Holmes pouted as he oiled the Tin Man's joints. All at once I felt certain that the wrong member of our duo was being referred to as childish.
"I'll have you know that I am sentimental to a fault! Let's fire this tuna can up!" I conceded, rolling up my sleeves and preparing to begin whatever work was necessary.
Directions for Use:
For Walking and Action – Wind beneath the left arm (marked No. 1)
For Thought and Speech – Wind beneath the right arm (marked No.2)
"How lucky that they are numbered! Now the Scarecrow and I won't have to bother remembering which way is left!" Holmes grumbled, still wounded from earlier inferences.
"Holmes… it says 'Thought and Speech'! Do you really think an invention of this sort is capable of reasoning?" I marveled, staring at the directions.
"Only to a very limited degree, I would imagine. But, alas, we learn more so every moment that nothing is too incredible. Our best course of action remains to attempt to start the mechanisms and see how it operates." Holmes shrugged, lifting the device's right arm and winding the small key that lay beneath it.
In quick response, I took it upon myself to wind the left key in syncopation. At first there was a great deal of pressure required for a single turn, but soon the keys turned almost effortlessly. A sound arose like the whistle of tea kettle, and an enormous cloud of steam overtook my vision.
"Is it working, Holmes?" I spluttered.
"Blast! I can't see a damned thing!" He cursed.
We took several steps back, grateful to be out of the massive clouds of vapor the Tin Man had produced. Leaning against the wheelbarrow, Holmes and I wiped our brows with our handkerchiefs, somewhat defeated.
"It didn't work." I jokingly informed our scarecrow, whose head slumped to his shoulder – as though he were looking at something strange in the direction of the automaton.
"By Jove! Watson! Look!" Holmes cried, and I turned to see the Tin Man. A true marvel of science.
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True and Interesting Fact: Tin is completely incapable of rusting. That's why I gave him iron joints; the worst thing that can happen to tin is oxidization similar to when copper turns green.