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1.
The Magic Picture showed Dorothy standing with a box that looked far too large and unwieldy to carry, so when Ozma wished her back home, it was directly into her royal bedroom.
She thought that would be the end of it, and was startled to find out that, when the box’s cardboard sides were pried open, its contents slowly swelled into something even more large and unwieldy.
“A mattress, Dorothy?” asked Ozma, somewhat baffled, as it unrolled to its full dimensions. (Queen-size. Naturally.) “We have those at the palace. We have so many mattresses here – we haven’t enough people to sleep on them all.”
“But even with all that,” pointed out Dorothy, “we haven’t one that you and I can both comfortably sleep on.”
It was true. And before their recent wedding, they hadn’t given it much thought – they had adjacent suites of rooms anyway, so at the end of a night together each would return to her own bed, and sleep soundly until morning. Ozma wouldn’t be kept up, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable on Dorothy’s mattress. Dorothy wouldn’t wake in the morning with aches and pains from not adjusting to Ozma’s.
But these days, their habit of sleeping apart (even when directly preceded by sleeping together) had led to whispers of scandal. Which may seem rather alarmist, but as the Emerald City had no real political scandals to speak of, folks had to take what they could get.
“So...this is a compromise?” guessed Ozma, prodding it gently with one emerald-slippered foot. “Not quite soft enough for you, nor firm enough for me, and we each take a partial share in the suffering?”
“Much cleverer than that, Ozma dear!” said Dorothy. “But if you don’t believe me, we shall replace the mattress on my bed, not yours. May I have the Magic Belt?”
Ozma offered it to her, and Dorothy set about floating the gift into her suite, swapping it out, and changing the sheets with the joyful efficiency of a former farm girl who does not take instant-housekeeping powers for granted. For the final act, and to keep the original mattress out of the way, she transformed it into something smaller, rounder, and altogether more Toto-sized.
She chose one side for herself, patted the other in invitation, and held up some smaller items from the box: a sheaf of paper, and an object with several buttons that fit nicely in the hand, “I s’pose we could adjust it with magic too – but doesn’t it seem fun to try it the regular way?”
After no small amount of reading, button-pushing, lying in various positions, and button-pushing some more, Ozma lay back and marveled. “It feels just right,” she said – softly, for night had fallen some time ago, and the rest of the palace around them had gone quiet, too. “I really believe I could sleep on this.”
Her wife didn’t answer. More than that: Dorothy’s eyes were closed, her breathing even. She had taken off the Belt, but other than that, fallen asleep entirely in her clothes.
“I suppose that answers for both of us,” said Ozma in her softest whisper, and slid out of her side of the bed. Not, at last, to leave for a different room; only to change into nightclothes and switch off the lights.
*
2.
Ozma had been forbidden from viewing the Great Dining Hall for several days now.
Ordinarily, she wouldn’t have followed such an order too strictly. Not even from Dorothy (and the Wizard had cautioned her many times that, no matter how high one’s rank or how vast one’s magical powers, following the orders of one’s wife was always advisable). The temptation to sneak a surreptitious look – perhaps through a window, or using a carefully-placed mirror – should have been unbearable.
However, Dorothy had advised Ozma that if she looked too early, it wouldn’t only be spoiling the reveal of Dorothy’s work, but the work of her honored collaborator, Jack Pumpkinhead. The one personage in all of Oz whom the Queen would have moved mountains not to spoil.
So Ozma gave her word, and kept it, and even allowed Dorothy to cover her eyes whilst leading her to the door.
“How beautiful!” she exclaimed, when the décor was revealed. American holidays weren’t often celebrated in Oz, but the non-fairyland immigrants had held an occasional gala for this one: enough for her to recognize the theme. “For Hallowe’en, right?”
The royal greens had been temporarily charmed into vivid oranges; the dishes and furniture were now black with fine ornate accents. Golden lanterns and autumn-leaf bouquets accented every seat. The windowsills each held a row of carved pumpkins, silhouetted by black drapes, candles inside their heads throwing out a beautiful dancing light.
Dorothy gave her a nudge toward Jack, who was waiting by one of the windows. “Go and see!”
Ozma had carved faces like Jack’s too often, she supposed, to be awed. Until she got closer, and realized these pumpkins weren’t carved with the familiar pattern at all.
In fact, it appeared they were all different – one or two had faces, but even those weren’t the shape Ozma was used to – and the rest had other shapes and scenes. Bats, ghosts, a skull, a graveyard, a cloud-wreathed crescent moon. All done with individual cut-out pieces that left sturdy amounts of material in between.
“Did you do all these, Jack?” she asked, stepping close enough to get a good look at all the details, tracing the arch of a carved cat’s back.
“Oh, yes! With Dorothy’s templates,” said the Pumpkinhead, sounding no less proud for having accepted the help. “She brought them back from the mortal world, and said I must help her choose which ones to use, for surely the best eye for pumpkin-carving would be one in a pumpkin-face. I think that was very wise of her, don’t you?”
“It was.” Only now did Ozma raise her eyes to really look at Jack’s latest head – and had a start, as she realized that this, too, had changed. Still the general shape of a face – two eyes on top, nose in the middle, mouth curving along the bottom – but the outline of each feature was new. Instead of his usual simple cheer, they gave him an air of pleased cunning.
“Ah! You’ve noticed my new face,” said Jack. “Another of the mortal designs. Isn’t it fine?”
“It certainly is...striking,” agreed Ozma. “Do you intend to carve this on every new head from now on?”
“Goodness, no.” Oblivious to Ozma’s suppressed sigh of relief, Jack continued: “It seems rather like wearing make-up does for human folk – more elaborate and fanciful than I need to look every day. But for special occasions...”
“It’s the face of a Pumpkinhead from someplace that isn’t Fairyland or America,” put in Dorothy, who had fetched two glasses (filled with something orange), and offered one to Ozma. “And he’s a King! So I thought, as long as our Jack liked it, wouldn’t it be awf’ly suitable for a royal event?”
Ozma took a sip of her drink, and tactfully changed the topic to complimenting this instead.
Dorothy fairly bounced in place, and exclaimed that she ought to have them sample some of the Earth-bought desserts, too. It wasn’t even dinner yet, “but if being a Princess, much less a Princess-Consort, doesn’t entitle one to have dessert before a meal, then what good is it? I mean, really.”
She rested her glass on the nearest table and darted away once more.
If Jack had worn his usual silly, vacant expression, Ozma might have reassured him that Dorothy was only joking, and would have been happy to marry Ozma (and to be, in a queer sort of way, Jack’s step-mother) even if it came with no desserts at all.
Before she could decide whether to say anything at all, the Pumpkinhead bent over as though to whisper in Ozma’s ear (although he rather forgot to lower his voice). “There was a template in the shape of a Bad Witch – the very silhouette of the Wicked Witch of the West, at least according to the pictures I’ve seen. I thought it sensible to leave that out.”
“One of the most sensible decisions you’ve made,” said Ozma approvingly. “Perhaps this face is doing you good.”
*
3.
“You slide your index fingers in, like so...”
Ozma did.
“...and now, you try to pull them out.”
“Is that all? I know your people don’t have magic, but surely they aren’t so impoverished for entertainment as to resort to this?”
“Just try it, Ozma, then you can talk.”
Ozma tried.
And tried.
And – “Are you certain you didn’t put a spell on this?” demanded Ozma, pulling in vain at the multicolored tube of paper, which held her fingers fast whilst Dorothy grinned nearly as wide as Jack. “May I summon the Royal Army to break me out of it, or is it charmed against that too? Have mercy, Dorothy! If I must call on Glinda the Good to rescue the Queen of Oz from an American child’s toy, I shall never, not for all the rest of my immortal years, live it down.”
*
4.
Dorothy knelt on the throne-room floor to open the box, and released something onto the velvety carpet: compact, metallic, about the size and shape of a stack of dishware. It reminded Ozma somewhat of Nick Chopper or Tik-Tok, if one of the metal men had been squashed nearly flat.
“Back in the mortal world, these need ‘lectricity to run, but I had the Wizard enchant this one,” explained Dorothy, pressing a switch. The metal creature, obediently, started to trundle across the carpet. “See!”
Ozma's most-recent visitors had been a delegation of Beasts, led by the Cowardly Lion. All of these were charming and diplomatic to a fault, but would leave a fine layer of shed fur across the entire room.
So the Queen clapped in delight to see the new metal creature clearing a visible path across the carpet, as if the furry guests had never been.
“It is fun to watch, isn’t it?” beamed Dorothy. “It’s almost like having a new pet.”
As if summoned by the mention of pets, Eureka appeared, emerging from some secret hiding-place beneath the thrones. “Isn’t this really more of a present for Jellia and the other maids than for Ozma?” she asked, trotting to the edge of the dais to observe. “Since princesses don’t do their own sweeping-up either way.”
“Nonsense, Eureka,” said Ozma immediately, before Dorothy could worry. “The maids are my beloved subjects, and I want them to have as much leisure time as possible. Therefore, anything that makes their work go faster and easier is also a delight to me.”
The pink kitten sniffed, unconvinced. “As long as it doesn’t clear out all the smells,” she said at last. “Some of us put a lot of effort into getting our scents around the place. I know I do – and Toto – and even the Glass Cat! Poor thing hasn’t really got any, her creator was too busy polishing her crystal brains to give her any crystal scent glands, but she tries.”
“There’s nothing to fear,” Dorothy assured her. “Why, from what I saw, these are absolutely beloved by mortal cats.”
“Is that so? Easily entertained, are they?”
Dorothy explained.
The next thing you know, Eureka had approached the machine, kept pace with it for a few steps to take its measure, then jumped to sit on its top. It rolled onward in its task, entirely undisturbed.
“It shall be my chariot,” declared Eureka proudly, whilst Ozma covered her mouth with both hands, because the cat's dignity would have been so bruised by how hard she wanted to laugh.
*
5.
This latest bag had been held back until the evening, so Ozma sat on the edge of her emerald-quilted bed to open it, wife perched lightly at her side. (It was the foot of the bed; each was able to keep to her own side of the mattress.)
Ozma lifted out the topmost layer of tissue-paper, and felt her eyes widen. “What...exactly...is this for, Dorothy dear?” she asked, touching the item with some hesitation.
Dorothy’s cheeks pinked. “Well – what does it look like?”
“Honestly? Except for the color, it looks like a man’s...you know. Or perhaps I shouldn’t make assumptions on the color. There are some folk in Gillikin Country with an awful lot of national pride.”
Had she been looking at Dorothy’s face, rather than turning the queer item over to examine all sides, she would have seen it go a most astonishing shade of red. “Not necessarily a man’s.”
“I suppose not,” allowed Ozma. “I had one, after all, for some time back in Gillikin Country – and I wasn’t necessarily a boy. But what in the world does one do with an imitation?” Not to be crass, but: the few things she’d used hers for, it turned out, she could do quite as well with the parts she had now.
“It’s rather intended to be used by two,” said Dorothy, just as Ozma’s fingers caught on something else in the bag. A sort of strap – no, it was part of a clever little harness. “One of them uses that, you see. To wear it.”
And not out-and-about, either, Ozma could work that out for herself. Certainly none of her royal wardrobe would have fit over it. “Oh. Suddenly, all becomes clear.”
“Not quite all.” Dorothy’s hand slipped into the bag. “It has some curious hidden features – let me show you.”
Her fingers found some hidden catch – Ozma missed the trick of it, in that moment, but she would certainly have Dorothy teach her. For the result was that the gift launched into an industrious, vibrating buzz.
Ozma looked at Dorothy. Dorothy looked at Ozma.
“My dear,” said Ozma after a breathless silence, “you and I are wearing entirely too many clothes.”