The Week of Ill Repute by Chudley Cannon
Disclaimer: I don't own these characters or anything like that.
Author's Notes: Oh, well, um... I guess that took a very long time, didn't it? I'm sorry. To make up for it, this chapter is the tiniest bit longer than usual (actually, it just ended up that way) and I promise (really this time) that chapter seven (the last one) will be along much quicker than this one. Thank you to everyone for your continued support and whatnot.
Chapter 6: A Resounding Imperative
It was rounding the time that Crope had once referred to as the money rush. The Emerald City was louder and busier than normal as the bankers and the businessmen and the Palace officials and the city's finest headed off in one general direction—the Palace Square, the very hub and district of Oz import/export. This was notable for no other reason than, even through the closed window of a random room on the eleventh floor, one could observe that it got very loud atmospherically. It is because of this that Elphaba first awoke, and also because of this that she knew what time it was.
"Oh, no," she mumbled, sitting up. "Meeting with the—social secretary—Glinda, you fool—you let us sleep. We're late."
Glinda neglected to reply, more because she was still sleeping than anything, although it is prudent to point out that, had she been awake, she would've pretended to be sleeping anyway; so as not to face Elphie's wrath.
"It's past nine and our appointment was for six," went on Elphaba, climbing out of bed, "and you know it usually takes hours for them to see us anyway, so I suspect we won't even be looked at until well past noon, if we're looked at at all, and we've got to check-out of here before noon unless we want another day added onto the bill." She made a noise that expressed an emotion somewhere between frustration and anxiety, which did wake Glinda up.
She yawned, "Elphie, come back to bed."
"Get dressed. We're extraordinarily late."
"Elphie, I'm cold."
"Well—you'll be warmer once you have some… clothes on."
"What for?"
"Glinda." Elphaba was impatient. "Didn't you hear anything I said?"
"Oh, I wasn't really listening," said Glinda blithely. "I was more sleeping, really, but as I understand it, we've missed our appointment by three hours, and we have three hours before we need to check out. Sounds as though we've fallen upon a wonderful opportunity to sleep for three more hours."
Elphaba slipped back into the bed because, if truth be told, she was cold, too. "It was an important meeting; you see, the whole reason we came here was to meet with the Wizard, don't you remember?" If she was trying to be scathingly sarcastic, Glinda thought, she might try looking less affectionate.
"Yes, but I already know what they'll say: 'The Wizard is a very busy individual and you'll have to wait, wait the same as any'."
Trying to hide her smile because it was a spot-on impression of every official they'd come into contact with, save for Glinda's habitual Gillikin pronunciation of things, Elphaba said, "We can't be bumped off the waiting list. We need to make an appearance."
"So, we'll make one, sometime before five," reasoned Glinda. "And we'll check out before noon, but honestly, Elphie. Honestly." She laid her cheek against Elphaba's bony shoulder and closed her eyes. "How offensive," she mumbled, "to go flitting off to the Palace when there's a girl in your bed who hasn't any clothes on."
Elphaba snorted. "My mother was right about the Gillikinese, you know," she said somewhat facetiously. "They are manipulative."
"Yes, every last one of us," agreed Glinda. Her cheeks flushed and her stomach turned in the way it did when Elphie spoke of her mother. Or anything, really, that was seemingly important and didn't get a lot of conversation time. Adoration worked in peculiar ways.
Elphaba closed her eyes as the sun poked half-heartedly through the curtains and then gave up, seemingly uninspired.
That, of course, is the story of how Glinda first manipulated Elphaba into a blatant shirking of responsibilities on the very morning that they were set to meet with the social secretary.
The Commander-General of Audiences was a brisk man with legs too long for his body and eyes too small for his face. Elphie had gone and started the whole interview off on the wrong foot by telling him that she was entirely sure that they had been waiting a great deal longer than the young man with the bright smile who wanted permission for the opening of a barber shop in the Palace Square and why was it that he was able to meet with the officials much quicker than they were?
Needless to say, the Commander-General was not as inclined to argue with Elphaba as most. He asked them of their intentions, a great deal of what Elphaba felt she had written on every terrible application and piece of file work she'd been handed thus far, but she bit back the retort about reading with one's eyes because Glinda looked so pale and nervous. Elphaba sighed.
"We have information for the Wizard that we feel is important to share as good citizens of Oz and whatnot," she said in a dry tone that she hoped was adequately polished enough. Glinda relaxed visibly.
The Commander-General narrowed his eyes. "What's that? What information?"
"Well," said Elphaba, "it's information that we'd rather tell the Wizard himself, you see—that's why we requested audience with him and not with the Commander-General." A sharp jab in her ribs and a hasty look from Glinda prompted her to append, "With all due respect, sir."
The Commander-General wrote something down and then rifled through a few papers. Elphaba was pleased to see that all that paperwork she had filled out was not for naught; there appeared to be several markings scrawled upon it, as though someone had read it thoroughly. Good, too, since she'd felt it had been some of her best writing to date.
"Is this information an attempt to notify the Wizard about something that could be detrimental to Oz?" the Commander-General asked.
"Er, yes, I'd think so," Elphaba responded. It really very well depended on whether the Wizard looked at things in large scale or small scale, and although Elphaba hoped for the latter, what she knew of him struck her as being very large-scale indeed.
"And finally," the Commander-General flicked his eyes up toward her, "who sent you?"
"Sent us?" exclaimed Glinda, proving to all in the room that she did actually know how to speak. "Whatever does that mean?"
"We came of our own volition," said Elphaba thoughtfully, "unless you mean to ask about a larger organization."
"The Wizard does not meet with schoolgirls habitually." The Commander-General was brisk. "And unless there's some sort of affiliation, I don't see how he should happen to make the time to see you."
Glinda glanced at Elphaba, who, at this point, was looking quite annoyed. Glinda shook her arm gently and meant to say something placating and singularly helpful, but the hard squaring of Elphaba's jaw put her off a little.
Finally Elphaba muttered, "Madame Morrible. Sent us, that is. That's our affiliation."
Glinda, thankfully, kept her mouth shut.
The Commander-General looked over a few things and then decided: "Tomorrow at eleven. You will have four minutes between the Ambassador to Ix and the Matron of the Ladies' Home Guard Social Nourishment Brigade."
"Four minutes?" cried Elphaba.
"You should be glad you're getting that much," he responded and handed her a white card. "Dress code is formal."
Glinda waited a full three seconds after they had left the Palace. "Now, isn't that interesting," she sang out, tossing her hair over her shoulder. "I had no idea Madame Morrible had sent us, Elphie. Truly, this puts an entirely different spin on our entire situation. You two are in cahoots, I see, and all this time I thought you hated—"
"All right," growled Elphaba. She scowled briefly. "I was worried we weren't going to be able to see the Wizard."
"This is new territory," continued Glinda. "I've never known you to be anything but entirely honest—often brutally so."
"You're baiting me, it isn't funny."
Glinda frowned in thought. "No, it's sort of funny."
"Look, it wasn't an entire lie," said Elphaba logically. In distraction, she fished into her pocket for the card the Commander-General had given her. "We wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Doctor Dillamond's fate and Doctor Dillamond surely wouldn't be where he is at this moment if it wasn't for our distinguished Head. She certainly did send us; she just doesn't know she did." Her tone became sour at the very end and Glinda noted the collapsed and defeated expression.
"Sorry," she offered weakly and Elphaba flashed a faint and forgiving smile, glancing up from the card.
"You didn't happen to pack that dress you have," said Elphaba, "the one with the sort of green muslin thing on it, or whatever it is?"
"No," said Glinda. "Capped sleeves are out of season. Why?"
Elphaba passed the regulations card to her, snickering. Glinda looked the card over as they walked past the Palace Square, towards the inn that they had procured a room in earlier. Her eyes widened. "What do they mean undergarments of lime? How should they know what my undergarments look like?" She snorted distastefully. "And why lime?"
"I'm sure we can ignore that," said Elphaba, ripping the card up into small pieces.
"Well, it might have said something important."
"I doubt it."
"I am certain there is some law against tearing up Palace authorized paper."
"There is not."
"Well, I wish there was a law against you disagreeing with me," said a frazzled Glinda, "for I think you do it purely on principle—"
"Glinda."
"As difficult as it is to believe, I do say some things that are correct—"
"Glinda, shhh..."
"—sometimes. Don't shhh me, this is important to me—"
"Shhh!" Elphaba dragged her into an alley and pressed her against the wall, her lips coming swiftly to muffle the next words, which dissolved into an indignant whimper. Glinda leaned into the kiss, momentarily forgetting her annoyance.
Elphaba pulled away, whispered, "Be silent," and pointed.
Glinda craned her neck around the side of the building to peer at the main road, but it was getting dark and there really wasn't much to see. "What am I being silent for?" she whispered loudly. Then the full head of blonde hair and the tailored tunic became clearer—a man, climbing out of a carriage and unloading something in the back. He turned.
"Drauc," she said, hushed.
"Isn't it," murmured Elphie.
"My," said Glinda in a cross-breeding of awestruck dumbfoundedness and amused annoyance, "this is a small city; I hadn't realized."
"Look," pointed Elphaba. "He's unloading all those hides. How many are from Animals, do you think?"
"I don't know," mumbled Glinda uneasily. "Elphie, take me back to the inn."
"In a moment."
"Elphie, I feel sick. Please?"
Elphaba looked at her for a moment and then said, "Can't you go back yourself?"
"No. What are you going to do?"
"I just think I'd like to have a conversation with him." Drauc had disappeared into the building, but his carriage was still there, so she assumed he'd come out soon.
"And what do you think that will accomplish?" whispered Glinda harshly. "Elphie."
"What? Silly me, I thought you knew he was a murderer and that Halivan did us a good service. How easily we forget."
"Stop it."
Elphaba was silent for an extended stretch of time, her gaze divided between the ashen expression on Glinda's face and the carriage heaped with hides. To Glinda, the moment was a bit too long, a bit too otherworldly, and—worst of all—rife with a tension that Elphaba was perhaps too preoccupied to acknowledge.
The decision was made, Glinda realized. "I'll find my way back to the inn myself," she said quietly. Elphaba's hands dropped from their place on Glinda's wrists like dead weight. If she was remorseful, she did not let on.
Glinda had one last thing to say once she had pushed past Elphaba and retreated almost entirely out of the alley; a half-turn and an expression that suggested exhaustion, devoid of its habitual petulance: "I should be severely put out if you died. Please don't."
The path from the cold alley to the desolate inn was an exhausted one indeed.
"Oh! Well, then—I do believe I have the wrong room." The lock had turned and the door had opened and someone other than Elphaba had entered the room, prompting Glinda to jump out of her chair in surprise. The worn, creased lines of the man's face made him look like the sort of man whose fatigue was more earned than his appearance would ever truly let on. He was filthy and moved slowly, giving Glinda pause.
"Er, yes, I think," replied Glinda, personally uncertain as to whether or not she was frightened or curious.
"It's—see—" The man cautiously held up his key. "It says '9' on it, and the key worked. I suppose there's been a mix-up."
"I suppose there has been."
"I didn't mean to startle you." His soft chuckle was muffled as he drew his hand over his face. The effect was unclear—he appeared neither cleaner nor more awake after this action. "Whatever it is that has you as jumpy as you appear—I'm sure things work themselves out entirely, don't they?"
She could not help but feel indignant. "I am not sure I know what you mean, sir," she said coolly.
"No." He leaned against the doorjamb. "Have you ever walked the Yellow Brick Road? It's only a question."
An odd question at that, but she felt no hesitance in answering it. "Yes. For as short a time as any, I made my way toward it."
"Well, then, you know, don't you? How the dirt starts off at your ankles and by the time it's evening, the wind has picked up to where it's now circling at the height of your head, getting in your eyes, your mouth, your nostrils? The Gillikin River has tributaries of dust—at some points, it's just all dust."
Glinda frowned. "Perhaps there was no wind when I did it," she said, feeling inadequate.
He smiled. "That's just it, I'd say. It works itself out entirely."
All the forceful weather in Oz could not have stopped her from smiling back. "Would you like some water?"
He moved further into the room slowly, accepting the cup when she poured from the pitcher atop the bureau. It was fitting, she decided, that he should drink all their water and smudge his darkened fingers along the porcelain of the cups and saucers. Elphaba didn't drink water. And Elphaba wasn't there anyway.
"The deserts in the west," he said, once he'd finished drinking, "are conditioned. I mean that they're expected, you see, and you hear that a Winkie can survive without water for weeks upon weeks. Are they rumors? Yes, I'd say it's all rumors, but they come out of something, don't they?"
"Yes," murmured Glinda in agreement. She poured him more water.
"It would be easy," he went on, "to divide the land into compartments, of course. Lush forestation to the north, marshy swampland in the south. Deserts to the west and fertile farmland in the east. It's even said that one could chip his tooth just walking into the Glikkus or cut his finger just thinking about the emerald mines."
Glinda, who had not heard this particular aphoristic platitude before, merely listened.
"When such isolation occurs, pockets are created. It is out of such pockets that a city like this fine one we find ourselves scraping about in can be created. How can a land boast unity when there are territorial borders, when there's a distinct shift in class? Why—" and here he lowered his voice significantly for the door was still quite open—"pledge unity to a Wizard whose achievements are only murmured about, never seen?"
"Why, indeed?" choked Glinda in an awed whisper.
"You understand it, then," he said decisively, and drank the last of the water. "That's why I'm seeking audience with the illustrious Wizard himself."
"That's what we're trying to do as well," said Glinda. "We have a meeting with him tomorrow at—tomorrow at eleven."
The man seemed surprised. "It is possible, then?"
"Well, I should think, we've been waiting long enough."
He smiled. It was both familiar and forbearing. "That gives me hope, then. Thank you for the water." He held up the key, the '9' becoming a '6' for a moment as he turned it around in his hand. "I'd best sort out this mix-up with the desk downstairs."
Elphaba had only ventured a short way into the warehouse before someone had prodded her in the back into a dark, abandoned hallway, pressed her face against the wall, and hissed, "Shh."
She was uncomfortable, breathing in the dank scent of the cratered wood she was face-to-face with. Her attacker snorted at her, saying, "I know who you are; stay quiet."
She did, more out of necessity than obedience; her lips were mashed against the wall. After a moment, she nodded as much as she was able—and after another moment, she was released. She turned, opened her mouth to ask one of the many questions colliding against the front of her brain, and then thought better of it, wordlessly following the Pig—for she knew now that it was such, his spiraled tail waved lewdly at her—down another, darker, narrower corridor.
"Horem double-booked," said the Pig in a hushed whisper. "But this is my mission, plain as day and you ought to get yourself out of here."
"Mission?"
"Shh…" He pulled her down yet another corridor, this one even more shrouded. They were deeper into the building now; Elphaba was not quite sure she'd be able to find the exit from here—perhaps that was the idea, though. The Pig was miffed, to say the least: "Horem trusts you to pull of a mission like this—he just met you, didn't he, bloody right, I wouldn't trust—"
"Horem," she repeated. Yes, of course, came the cold, empty thought. The cloaked figure in the chapel. She narrowed her eyes, wondering, "Is Horem an Animal?"
A high-pitched giggle came from the Pig's throat, although not necessarily connected to him. "He's no Animal," he said. "Human. Like you. Horem the human. Not his real name, of course, just his code, but it serves its alliterative purpose, doesn't it? Listen—" He leaned in closer, his snout nearly brushing her skin. "It's my mission what you're cutting in on here; go back and tell Horem I've got it, I have it; I'm about to do it."
Elphaba shook her head. "I know nothing of any mission."
"Of course you do. Horem thinks I can't handle it by myself, but it's not such a complex operation. Black trade, quality Animal hides—not too big, still specialized. Take out the leader, it all crumbles. Easy. And I've seen him, the leader—he looks like a nancy—very pretty if you like the type."
Elphaba dithered for a moment, frowning in the dark anonymity of the blackened corridor. At her back was a door, she could feel the knob digging into her back, but she couldn't see it. She could barely make out the tint of her own hands—could only see the slight gleaming shine of the Pig's eyes. "Drauc," she said finally, finding her heavy tongue. "You mean to kill Drauc."
"Shhh. Of course. Don't pretend Horem didn't send you."
"He didn't. I came in here by chance; I've come across this character before. Skinned and sold a—a friend of mine."
"Did he now? He's still my mark."
"I don't want to kill him," she spat, the sick rising in her throat. "I want to—" But she was unable to finish because the ambiguity was too perverse, her resolve was not thick enough. She simply wanted Drauc to pay for what he had done but she could not understand the currency or the conversion of it—what constituted payment? There was no retribution for the crime Drauc had committed because it simply wasn't a crime at all, not by the Wizard's standards.
Her whisper was harsh. "He told us—I was led to believe that Drauc was supposed to be mayor to some place up in Gillikin."
The Pig giggled again. "Not a lie, I should say. That's all true. He probably will be mayor—or would have been, really, I'm going to kill him, aren't I—of some Gillikinese village. Good to have folk like him in power, eh?"
Her eyes had adjusted to the dark by now and, having that sense no longer incapacitated, she began to hear the rustling of things below, men's voices, the sounds that accompanied metal tools and wood tables. The Pig listened, too, following Elphaba's silence.
"Down there," he said, nodding. "I don't suppose this Drauc is off by himself, but I've got a handle on it."
"Not very discreet," said Elphaba dispassionately, "an Animal assassin lurking about."
"Well, we haven't got much in the way of humans working for the cause, do we? Excluding Horem, of course. There could be humans higher up than us, but I doubt it, and furthermore, I'll never meet any of them, will I? It was ages before I even saw Horem without his damned cloak."
Elphaba found herself unable to listen too enthusiastically now, so distracting were the sounds below. The sickening scrape of metal did things to a mind, she was sure; the courage she had felt moments ago when she'd stalked off behind Drauc was gone, dissipated at her feet.
"Look. Listen, listen." The Pig was even quieter. She had to lean in to hear him properly. "Perhaps it weren't all for nothing that old Horem sent you."
"He didn't send me."
"Well, say he did, say he did, I could use you." She could just make out his eyes in the dark, darting frenziedly. "As a distraction, so I can draw out the mark."
It sounded terrible, Elphaba thought, but she was helpless at this point.
"It isn't dangerous," said the Pig hastily. "I had an idea of knocking over a shelf—one of those large, wall ones—by the door so that the lot of them would run up to see what the commotion was. I'm relying on assumption, of course, that someone as high-up as Drauc wouldn't bother himself with anything as trivial as clean-up."
"I see."
"I planned to then hurry down the back entrance and hope for the best, but that's a bit risky, isn't it—if I'm already down there and someone else trips the shelf, it's enormously better for me. And you could be out of the building before anyone is even halfway up the stairs."
"It is certainly devoid of complications, isn't it?" said Elphaba wryly, a masked dread traversing its way down her spine. To be an accomplice (was that the word, she wondered? It sounded unduly dramatic) in a murder was an entirely different course of action than the one she had initially intended to pursue.
But what did you mean to pursue? What did you intend, letting Glinda go back to the inn while you went on?
No, thinking of Glinda was no good. It only made her feel guilty.
The Pig was waiting for her answer and she finally gave it, asking, "Where is this shelf?"
"By the entrance to the stairs. I'll show you."
Fortunately, the guilt was gone, replaced unerringly with a numb fear. She nodded mutely.
"Excellent," said the Pig. "I'll have to get your name so I can report it to Horem, tell him what a help you were."
It didn't matter if she closed her eyes or not; it was too dark to make a difference.
"Fae," she said. "That's my name."
There was an ominous—and rather unseemly, Glinda thought—crack of thunder as the man left the room; she looked out the window and the rain was coming down in sheets. The picturesque backalley view outside was a grim, muddy backdrop upon which the rain fell and then bounced on the pavement, escorting itself back upwards as though it, too, was puzzled as to why it had begun so quickly.
And Glinda, for the second time in less than a week, found herself rather worried that Elphaba was stuck in the rain.
Oh, sure, they'd procured a replacement cloak for her and Glinda knew that she shouldn't be too worried, and really, it would serve Elphaba right if something terrible were to happen to her because she was so damned hell-bent on making Drauc pay for his actions—and it wasn't raining too hard, was it, the streets were only a little bit flooded it seemed, but this was nothing to worry about, nothing at all.
Glinda bit her lip and stared out the window. It would probably let up in a minute or two.
She took her dinner, alone, and smuggled up food for Elphaba to take later and it still rained and she still wasn't exactly worried, but the idea of it didn't stick very nicely in the pit of her stomach. None of it did. Rather, if the rain and her stupid allergy hadn't killed her, Elphaba had surely suffered a clout to the head when Drauc had seen her sneaking around—or perhaps he had slit her throat. Or perhaps he had kidnapped her. Oh, that was just like him! To kidnap Elphaba and kill her and sell her skin—
Oh, wonderful, now she was worried and queasy.
"What I'll do," said Glinda out loud, because the room was quiet and the only sound was the rain beating outside, "is I'll leave this door ajar—" She did so. "And I'll sit in this chair." She sat in the chair, facing the door. "And I'll—I'll read this book." She reached over and grabbed one of Elphaba's heavy tomes from the bed, flipped to an arbitrary page, and began to read. "And I'll wait."
She did wait. She read about abstract biological concepts, about this Durge theorist who had assembled followers as a reaction against realistic conventions in biology, about the most boring topics she'd ever read; she pretended she was Elphaba and that this sort of thing was interesting and although it continued to rain, she barely thought about it, until there was a sound at the door and she looked up.
This was an abstract concept in itself, a return to normalcy, a reaction against realistic conventions. She started when Elphaba appeared in the doorway—a hooded figure with dark eyes and a veil of shiftless, weighty hair, visible as she threw the hood back. Her lips were set in a firm line, her bony knuckles rapping against the doorframe as she entered with dark, shadowy flourish, like a terrible, wonderful caped Thing.
"Oh," said Glinda, for she could think of nothing else to say. "It's you, and you're back."
"Yes," agreed Elphaba and pulled her wet cloak off, draping it across another chair. "It's me and I'm back."
Glinda stood. She was unsure of where the cool, frosty environment had come from—just that it had come and it made her shiver. It was cold outside, she knew, and raining, but it was more than that. There was a tearing inside her, a stubborn fugue-like battle that urged her to wrap her arms around Elphaba's middle, to bury her head in the soft flowing hair—and shouting, also, that she shouldn't, that there was a dark emptiness to Elphaba's eyes, both frightening and intoxicating at once.
A lean elbow settled itself atop the bureau and the forearm stretched out and drummed impossibly long and slender fingers along the top of it. The long uneasiness gave Glinda a heady feeling; Elphaba's lips parted and her eyes, downcast, had a bit of guiltiness in them.
Perhaps simple, disobedient pleasure won out; perhaps aesthetic emotion was the clear victor in this case—so Glinda did just what she wanted, she moved closer and melted herself into Elphaba's embrace and drew her arms around Elphaba's waist and felt better for all of five seconds.
"You poor thing!" she exclaimed. "You poor, poor thing."
"Oh, not so very poor," said Elphaba, sliding those gloriously slender fingers up into Glinda's bright, flaxen curls. "I should think and hope, at least."
"You didn't get too wet, did you?"
"The damage," said Elphaba with a warm kiss against Glinda's forehead, "is more psychological than actual."
"Oh!" cried Glinda, because it sounded harmful, whatever it was. She frowned and held Elphaba at arm's length to check her over, although truly there was no damage that could be deemed actual—just a cold numbness to the skin, which she did her best to warm up with vigorous rubbing.
Lamenting over the absence of a fire and tut-tutting over the chattering, shivering state Elphaba was in, Glinda helped her onto the small bed and undressed her.
"I won't even ask what you did, I don't care, I'm only happy you're all right."
"Oh," muttered Elphaba as she pulled tighter the drab blanket that Glinda had wrapped around her. "Spoken like a true Gillikinese, trained for housewifely duties."
"This wasn't specifically in the training," remarked Glinda with a mild smile, "but there was a section of keeping dinner warm, and I did just that." She brought the food to Elphie's lap and sat beside her.
"I'm not very hungry."
"Well, you never are, are you? Here." She thrust the fork into Elphie's hand and moved the candle from the bureau to the bedside table for warmth. "Eat."
Elphaba did so, reluctantly, examining the food with narrowed eyes before spearing a vegetable on her fork. "It's really quite curious," she said between bites, "with the current of commerce and the economic hub that the Emerald City truly is—it'd be interesting to determine the ratio of legitimate Palace-sanctioned business to underground illegal business—"
"I am not listening," said Glinda airily. "I wish to know none of this."
"No, really, it's interesting." Elphaba set her fork down.
"Keep eating."
She kept eating. "Think—the Wizard's been in power for a long time now and there are even some businesses forced to go underground because the waiting list to be legitimized by the Palace is too long! It's—where's our water?"
"You don't drink it, stop this." The sharpness was difficult for Glinda to mask from her tone as she spared a somewhat panicked, stricken glance toward the empty water pitcher.
"No, but if we heat it with the candle, I can put the vegetables in and you can have soup."
"Oh."
"Well, it is somewhat endearing that you were that thirsty while I was gone."
"No, no. There was a mix-up." She sat beside Elphaba on the bed. "This man had gotten the spare key to our room and he looked tired, so I offered him our water."
"Hmm," said Elphaba in a noncommittal way, staring down at her food.
"Well, I thought, you don't drink water and I don't need it nearly as much as he seems to—"
"Oh, that's very generous of you. Did he just stand here and drink our water?"
"Yes. Well, yes, and we spoke a little."
"Hmm," said Elphaba in that same noncommittal way. She set her plate aside. "About what?"
"This is the part I meant to tell you, because this man—I didn't get his name—this man is also seeking audience with the Wizard, about improving conditions in Oz. I said, you'd like my friend Elphie, she's the same as you."
"How curious," said Elphaba in a tight voice, "that he should stand in our room and drink our water and tell you that he planned to talk to the Wizard."
Glinda frowned. "Well, not so very curious," she said thoughtfully. "I mean, is it? There's the story of his receiving the same key as ours and the very fact that he looked as though he needed water. And I'd suppose I look approachable; I look like the sort who's open to ideas and such."
Elphaba, who had set her jaw and was frowning in thought, now snorted disbelievingly.
"Well!" said Glinda defensively. "It's true."
"In the future," said Elphaba tightly, "I should like it very much if you would not invite strangers in here. Or allow them to drink our water, for that matter. For all we know, he's already sent word back to Madame Morrible and she's—"
"That's paranoia talking," said Glinda. "I didn't tell him anything of interest and he seemed very much to be on our side of things."
"So he said."
"My instincts—"
"Oh." Elphaba's tone was acidic as she rose from the bed and began to pace. "Your instincts aren't nearly as cultivated as you believe them to be. Intuition isn't suddenly bred purely because you happen to have a stray thought every once in awhile."
Were it not for the rain outside, Elphaba was sure that the room would be unbearably quiet. She glanced down at the floor because the glimpse of Glinda's expression, so sincerely stung, filled her with the same cold feeling she'd had earlier in the warehouse.
After a long stretch of silence, Glinda spoke softly. "No, I'd suppose not," she said. She stared a bit at her hands. "I find it funny," she said, quiet and calm and not at all Glinda, a bit too foreign to Elphaba. "I find it funny, or… interesting, rather, that you have this unfailing compassion for Animals and these peculiar beliefs that you have. And yet, for humans, you have none. I find it interesting that you alternate between extraordinary kindness and unflappable cruelty."
She stood from the bed as well, but she was miles away and Elphaba was too frightened to try and reach her; she could only watch as Glinda cleaned up the dinner and straightened up the room. She could only watch. And feel cold and feel terrible and feel guilty.
"I don't want to know what you've done," said Glinda and she stopped a moment and regarded Elphaba. Perhaps there were tears in her eyes, perhaps Elphaba was too frightened to look. "I don't want to know what's happened to Drauc. I wish not to think of you that way."
She took the bed, then, and undressed and put out the light. Elphaba watched her from a chair and pretended again that she was protecting Glinda, protecting them both—mostly, though, she just felt sick.
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