Yay, the response for the last chapter really made me very happy. While I'm grateful for any reviews at all, for a couple of chapters I was getting bummed out 'cause I thought I was losing readers. :( It was a depressing thought. But apparently I was wrong! And glad for it. So thank you very, very much. :)
The carriage pulled to a stop, and the driver helped Elphaba out before turning to talk to an Emerald City guard. She took the opportunity to look around.
She recognized where she was. It was the plaza she was led to after her first adventure in the city, right before she was led inward to the Wizard's great hall. This was not where she wanted to be, at all. She spun to face the driver.
"I asked you to take me to Glinda Upland. Why did you take me here?" Elphaba asked, her anxiety unintentionally sounding more like annoyance on her voice.
"I beg your pardon, madam, but this carriage can go no further," the driver explained, taking off his top hat courteously. "You are at the southern entrance to the palace. Miss Upland resides in the North Tower, which cannot be reached by vehicle on any side by law. This gentleman tells me that Her Goodness will be in the attendance of the Great Oz himself within the next hour. You would find her if you entered the palace here and went straight forward—"
"And the North Tower?"
"Take that walkway around the palace," he answered, replacing his top hat with a flourish. "It is the tallest tower to the north. You can't miss it. It is imperative you confirm your appointment through her guards, as Lady Glinda allows few people into her home."
She thanked him and set off down the small street that he pointed to. There was no possibility that Glinda would have announced Elphaba's arrival with her guards, even those she trusted enough to protect her home, but it was unnecessary since she still had her magical broom and could simply fly up to Glinda's balcony (which the blonde herself had suggested she do). Honestly, she didn't want to go to the North Tower if Glinda wasn't there, and she most certainly did not want to go directly into the arms of the Wizard and his press secretary if she could help it, green or not. If Glinda was busy, then she was going to try and find that door that led to Fiyero by herself.
Taking off through dark and dank streets of unfamiliar neighborhoods was not Elphaba's idea of a good time. A few years ago, when she was still green but relatively unknown to the world, it would have been a different story; she would have thought of it as a nice stroll. Everyone would have been too freaked out to approach the green girl. Furthermore, after she defied the Wizard and the confines of gravity, people were too frightened of the terrifying Wicked Witch to bother her.
But this time, she had no strange skin to protect her or any title or reputation to use to her advantage. From what she understood, she looked like any other woman. Well, except perhaps more physically scarred, she thought, brushing her fingers over the long, bruised mark on her forehead broodingly as she tucked loose hair behind her ear. But she doubted that made any difference. She pulled up her large hood over her head anyway, feeling more secure and unknown in its shadows.
When she was younger, she seemed to be the only person who enjoyed Oz's relatively rare rainstorms. Of course, people liked the idea of rain – it was a necessity after all, especially considering the land's Great Drought – but none flourished in rain quite like Elphaba Thropp did. It had its advantages, she had always reasoned, especially if one was mal-colored: folks generally became more self-focused. They stared down at their feet when they walked, cautious of puddles and mud, and for the most part paid no heed to others walking nearby, especially those wearing cloaks or jackets over their heads. So, though the big, dark, normally suspicious hood was pulled low over her face, not a single passerby cared. She was safe.
As the path curved around, she saw what the man meant about not being able to miss Glinda's residence. From where she stood, she was able to see a balcony, and though she had to squint to see it, the slight glow of pink from the very top of the loftiest tower at least a half mile away. It was good to at least know where it was.
It didn't take her much longer after that to find a servant's entrance into the palace and break in. That was the easy part. Finding a door that she saw in a vision while she was hundreds of miles away that could have simply been imagined, and do so without being caught, was the tricky part. She had the feeling that no matter what she looked like, the palace guards still might not be thrilled that she was sneaking around the palace.
Elphaba really had no idea where she was going; she was following her instincts through the dark and dreary stone corridors. Something in her heart seemed to be navigating her through the vast castle, and crazy as that sounded, it was better than nothing. She limped to what appeared to be the end of the servant passageways. Elphaba looked around; she had no idea where she was or where to go next. Damn her and her impulsive, reckless and thoughtless determination! What was she thinking, breaking into such a fortress, completely aimless save for this enigmatic door and dyspepsia leading her through the dragon's lair? Oh, the smart comments Glinda would have for her if she knew…
"Who're you?" a gruff male voice came from behind her, and Elphaba spun in place to see a short, heavyset palace worker approach from the servant's hallway she had just passed through. The older man never took his gray eyes off from the dark-cloaked Elphaba as she stood there at the intersection to the fancy hall, even as he passed by towards a nearby door with freshly laundered linens in his hands. "Hey, I'm talkin' to you. Who're you? What are you doin' here?"
This was not what she wanted to deal with. What could she say anyway? She was wandering aimlessly. She considered just being forthright and asking for directions, but then again she had no idea where she was going. And this man didn't exactly seem like the friendliest person in the palace.
She resisted the temptation to simply act dumb, lost, and foreign. Though it had been a very long time since she had spoken the language, she was fluent in Qua'ati due to her many childhood years spent in Quadling country, but she could see no positive outcome in playing dense. The man would probably just bring her back where she started.
"Hello! I'm talkin' to you," the raspy-voiced servant said again. "I'm gonna call some guards down here."
"I would advise against that," Elphaba spoke up, and he frowned, suddenly understanding the danger he could be in.
She would have preferred to attempt civility with the man, use reason and charm and all of that (not that she was very practiced with what little charm she possessed, she had always left that up to Nessarose or Glinda in her past), but unfortunately footsteps could be heard down the hallway. One person she could deal with, especially a generally uncaring servant who seemed to simply be concerned for his own safety, but multiple people, especially guards, made things ever more challenging. What would she say when she was caught down a servants' hallway with an old broomstick? She worked there? Something told her that with the blood and muddy filth she had covering her from head to toe they wouldn't believe she was a maid.
"Good, sounds like some Gale Forcers are headin' this way," the man said with a crooked, insensitive smile. "I'm sure they'd love to talk to you and escort you out."
She felt, to her shame, the thin thread of control and rationale snap and she lost herself for a moment. The idea of being stopped after everything she had gone through to get here without having made a single ounce of progress or acquired anything all was too much to bear. The man's eyes widened and his mouth opened in shock as Elphaba lunged forward, grabbing him by the collar and threw him into the room he stood near. The servant fell to the floor with the linens scattered around him, and Elphaba shut the door with a soft snap behind her, only seconds before the footsteps rounded a corner into the same hallway they were just standing in.
"You breathe and I promise you, you'll regret it," the witch whispered viciously. It was an empty threat but a believable one all the same, and the man nodded, quivering in fear.
She cracked the door open slightly, barely enough to be noticed but still so she could see. There were indeed Gale Force officers and, judging by the symbols on their collars and the lack of the usual ridiculous attire, reasonably high ranking. The two men seemed to be chatting between each other quietly and she couldn't hear what they were saying, but she didn't care. But she could hear other voices clearly, however, and she closed her eyes momentarily and held her breath when she realized she recognized them.
A few paces behind the guards, to Elphaba's dismay, strode Madame Morrible and the Wizard of Oz.
Morrible was dressed in one of her classic bizarre dresses– there were layers of fabric and feathers in gold and orange that when she walked flowed and flittered around her, resembling a goldfish gliding through water. It would have been elegant and attractive if not for the fact that many of these feathers stuck out in weird directions like a frightened chicken and, well, if she didn't look so completely fish-like.
The Wizard looked just as he always had: aged, yet still youthful in his own way. When she first met the man, after he stepped out from behind the frightening great head, she found that quality to be endearing and made him forgivable for his falseness. So much had changed so quickly that day.
"I have to say, that meal was rather disappointing."
"New cook, I'm told."
"Yes, I'd believe that. Have you seen the time?" Morrible's sharp voice asked. "It looks as though you'll be late for that meeting."
"Indeed, but it is only Miss Upland…" the Wizard responded indifferently.
"Oh, what does that girl want now?"
"News of her former fiancé, I believe."
Elphaba tried not to react to the blasé comment, for they were so close they would have heard her stir. They passed out of sight but she pressed her cloak-covered ear to the crack in the door in order to keep listening.
"So she doesn't know what's become of him?" Morrible asked with a hint of intrigue. "Are you going to tell her?"
"That we threw him to rot in the dungeon? Something tells me the lass won't be happy with that…"
Their voices trailed off and soon they were out of earshot completely. She turned and leaned against the doorframe, her forehead leaning against the cool wood. The conversation she happened to witness firsthand kept echoing in her mind: 'Threw him to rot in the dungeon…' It made her want to vomit.
And to think– they called her wicked.
On the bright side, she knew where she needed to go…kind of. And finally, some good luck; she realized how fortunate she was and how unlikely the odds to have those two villains walk past her speaking of the one thing she was looking for.
With a quick snap of her head, she stared fiercely at the servant such that even though he couldn't see her face he still shivered from her harsh look.
"Take me to the dungeons."