A Lion Among Men Part 15

"Oh, you don't say! But how bizarre," said Mister Mikko. "I don't suppose you ever came across a Miss Quasimoda? She was a White Ape who taught drawing from life. Quite scandalous."

"With you involved, I shouldn't wonder," intoned Professor Lenx.

"I mean the drawing from life," huffed Mister Mikko. "The very idea!"

"No, no, I never did," said Brrr hurriedly. "I don't remember anyone's name from that time, except for a headmistress of one of the women's halls. Someone named...Madame...Madame Morrible."

The silence could have been sc.r.a.ped with a putty knife.

"She was in cahoots with the Wizard," said Professor Lenx shortly. "That's what was said in the SCR, anyway."

"Of course she was, she and that little tiktok agent of hers. Gramitic."

"Grommetik."

"All due respect. I am certain it was Gramatic. Gramitic Gramitic."

"Your certainty has more bare spots than your scalp does."

Mister Mikko bared his old teeth at his colleague and turned back to Brrr. "Don't mind Professor Lenx; his mind is going. I don't suppose you ever came across a Doctor Dillamond? A Goat with expertise in several fields, history and science among them."

"The history of science," murmured Professor Lenx. "The science of history."

"I never did. And I'm sorry for mentioning Madame Morrible. I didn't meet her personally. She presided over teas for the visitors-community relations, that sort of thing, a town-and-gown tension-mitigation scheme. She lectured once or twice. I don't remember the topic."

He did, though. The Animal Adverse laws, and the Wizard's mercy.

"Doctor Dillamond," said Professor Lenx. "A fine scholar."

"And an early admirer of Elphaba Thropp's, as I recall," added Mister Mikko.

Brrr took the chance that was presenting itself. "I don't suppose you remember an occasion in which an infant Lion cub was brought into a laboratory in Shiz? For some kind of treatment?"

Professor Lenx and Mister Mikko exchanged glances.

"Much was done that is best not to remember," said Mister Mikko softly.

"I think I might have been that Lion cub."

A grave silence as, in the next room, a few coals fell from their little heap.

"We might all have been that Lion cub," said the Boar.

The Ape got up to clear. The cups trembled in his hands. When he left the room, the Boar leaned forward. "We did not approve," he whispered. "Please don't speak of this again. He gets very upset, the old fool."

"It was my life, my life," said Brrr.

"And this is ours, what's left of it. Spare us, and save yourself. You're young enough. Look: You have survived. Bless you, dear sir. Bless you, and shut up."

As Mister Mikko cleared away, Brrr pushed Professor Lenx's cart into the front parlor, where it took up half the room. The Lion stirred up the fire while the Boar sunk into a reverie about Madame Morrible and the last golden years of an integrated university life. When Brrr settled in a ratty old upholstered chair ( just covered with silvery Ape hairs), he didn't speak but thought about Animals in exile and the need for a modern workforce in the factories.

There was an opportunity here. Staring him in the face. Rehabilitation of a sort, if he worked it right. If he had the mettle to do it.

During afters, Brrr made his proposal over a bitterroot sherry. He offered his services as a go-between. He would return to Shiz and present himself to the appropriate authorities as Professor Lenx's agent. He would ask 15 percent of any funds he was able to locate and arrange to have released. Everything notarized and formalized.

"I know you're young," said Mister Mikko. "Well, youngish. But have you really the nerve to return to Loyal Oz?"

"I am a Namory," he reminded them. "I once got a medal from the Wizard of Oz himself. And for a time I counted the Scarecrow, who sits upon the Throne, a personal friend."

"We move in lofty circles, yet we wear such a n.o.bly frayed jacket," said the Boar, as gentle as he was wry.

Brrr pressed his case. "I ought at least to be able to get an audience with him, if the banks give me a hard time."

Professor Lenx couldn't control his trembling as Mister Mikko, with a more capable hand, labored over a contract engaging Brrr as a financial agent.

"a.s.suming on the Loyal Oz side of the border that the Shiz bank honors its terms, will the Eminent Thropp here in Munchkinland allow the funds transfer?" asked Brrr. "I don't know much about monetary policy. And who is the current Eminent Thropp now, anyway?"

"With the deaths of both Elphaba and Nessarose, the t.i.tle of Eminent Thropp ought to have reverted to Sh.e.l.l," said Mister Mikko. "I mean, given the absence of the issue of the women of the line. For, like the descent of Ozmas, the Eminenceships descend with a matrilineal bias. But Sh.e.l.l is said to be a playboy in Emerald City gambling parlors. Also a regular visitor to girlie arcades. He's shown no inclination to give up the high life and waltz back here to govern a rogue state. One suspects his political sympathies, if he's ever developed any, would have conformed with the Wizard's, anyway."

"Who else has emerged?" said Brrr. "I mean, to pick up the county where Nessarose left it when she died?"

"Bit of a local scrabble," said Mister Mikko, "but if we had the money you might bring us, we'd put it on the Eminent Pastor in Old Pastoria. Her name is Mumbly."

"Her name is Mammly."

"Her name is immaterial. Mumbly, Mommy, will will you let me finish, old darling? She keeps to herself. She's distantly related to Pastorius, who was the last Ozma Regent before the Wizard's takeover. She probably has the most legitimacy to stand up to the Emerald City in case of an attempt at reannexation, though I don't know if she would. I don't think she has the conviction of exceptionalism that Nessarose possessed." you let me finish, old darling? She keeps to herself. She's distantly related to Pastorius, who was the last Ozma Regent before the Wizard's takeover. She probably has the most legitimacy to stand up to the Emerald City in case of an attempt at reannexation, though I don't know if she would. I don't think she has the conviction of exceptionalism that Nessarose possessed."

"We use the same currency, in any event," added the Boar, "so how could there be a prohibition against our reclaiming our retirement funds?"

Brrr left them to their nattering and sunk into a haze of antic.i.p.ation. Could this work? A legitimate job serving two populations at once? If he helped to resolve the labor crisis, surely that would confer upon him a legitimacy that had hitherto eluded him in human society?

It had been several years since he'd left the Emerald City. He could return in triumph, circling north to Shiz first, of course, to begin the negotiations.

He fell asleep in front of the fire and dreamed of grat.i.tude.

IN THE MORNING, Brrr managed to cadge from the two old bachelors an advance on future earnings-a sack of fifteen mettanite florins. With mounting hopes he made his way back overland to Shiz. Back from the farthest habitable corner of Munchkinland, back to life. Scheming all the while. He'd spend a third of the money on a new wardrobe, first; then secure a pied-a-terre in a respectable neighborhood. Someplace better than Ampleton Quarters: that was important. People would notice. Brrr managed to cadge from the two old bachelors an advance on future earnings-a sack of fifteen mettanite florins. With mounting hopes he made his way back overland to Shiz. Back from the farthest habitable corner of Munchkinland, back to life. Scheming all the while. He'd spend a third of the money on a new wardrobe, first; then secure a pied-a-terre in a respectable neighborhood. Someplace better than Ampleton Quarters: that was important. People would notice.

For a week, no more, he would bring himself out to cafes and concerts. He'd condescend to recognize none of his former a.s.sociates. It would be enough to be seen. Brrr's back Brrr's back. Brrr's back in town Brrr's back in town. Delicious. He'd returned: a Lion unafraid of human society. Let it be said of him that he was the first of the Animals to emerge from hiding. He's the first, you know. Who'd have thought it of him? He's the first, you know. Who'd have thought it of him?

Let it be said that he held his head high.

His mane is a ruff of bronze. Adversity has strengthened him! Let that be said, too. Let that be said, too.

His knees were shaking, though, behind the panels of his red velvet greatcoat-cut intentionally long to hide just such a syndrome-when he got up the nerve, at last, to present himself to the governor general of the banking house identified by Professor Lenx.

He gave his name as Sir Brrr, Namory of the Palace of the Throne of Oz. He didn't specify his rank nor identify his district, which proved a smart move. The governor general apparently thought it impolite to enquire. (An Animal Namory was an aberration in and of itself, so far, and perhaps, Brrr speculated, the GG of the bank didn't care to be seen ignorant of the conventions, however newly established.) Somewhat shocked by Sir Brrr's request, the banking officials couldn't quickly enough find out a reason to reject his pet.i.tion. In the end it was a matter of deciding what fee to apply against the withdrawal sum for the backbreaking work of having kept Professor Lenx's deposit secure all these long years, while said absentminded Professor had gone lollygagging about without so much as a postcard over the holidays.

When they announced the amount that they would take-30 percent-Brrr was shocked. He understood at once that he had undersold himself as to the percentage of his own fee. But how easy to exaggerate by 5 percent what the bank had charged, and pocket the difference. He was worth it. Without his skill at negotiation and his nerve, the Animals back in Stonespar End would be getting nothing.

Carrying a letter of a.s.surance, Brrr traveled back to Munchkinland. He avoided the high road, fearful of bandits-he was carrying cold cash-so it took a while to arrive. In the time he'd been gone, Mister Mikko had suffered a viral infection of some sort and lost all his teeth, and he refused to come out of his room.

For his part, Professor Lenx was irate to learn that his investment, far from growing, had lost 50 percent of its original value. But to have some cash was better than having none. He thanked Brrr profusely with tears and scratchy embraces, and introduced him to a neighbor from Three Dead Trees, a crippled old Tsebra, whose family also had a sizeable trust fund in a Shiz cash emporium...

Thus did Brrr's career as a professional adjustor of personal finance-his own-root and thrive. He took new digs in Shiz at the top of a converted palace. He had a private lift and he hired a personal valet-a human, what a delicious touch-and from his salon at night he could see the glittering lights of the banks reflected in the black waters of the Suicide Ca.n.a.l. The pelt of a tiger was draped across the piano.

- 7 -

A L LION COULD move in circles that others could not. Once he established himself as a professional arbiter, Sir Brrr began to demand-and get-the more useful sort of testimonials. Letters from the proper officials that permitted his pa.s.sage across the Oz-Munchkinland border at the checkpoint called Munchkin Mousehole. A good thing, too. Much safer than the off-road scurry that black-market enterprise favored. Still, the fear of highway robbery remained strong, since the wheels of the rented phaeton had bronze rims that rang out an alarm-the progress of money over here!-as they struck the yellow brick paving. move in circles that others could not. Once he established himself as a professional arbiter, Sir Brrr began to demand-and get-the more useful sort of testimonials. Letters from the proper officials that permitted his pa.s.sage across the Oz-Munchkinland border at the checkpoint called Munchkin Mousehole. A good thing, too. Much safer than the off-road scurry that black-market enterprise favored. Still, the fear of highway robbery remained strong, since the wheels of the rented phaeton had bronze rims that rang out an alarm-the progress of money over here!-as they struck the yellow brick paving.

Brrr's valet doubled as a chauffeur. He carried a cosh and a pistol and looked like a bandit himself, which was perhaps useful. His nose ran constantly and he seemed to enjoy his toddy at all hours of the day and evening, which Brrr overlooked since everything else seemed in order. He was called Flyswatter.

The need for Brrr to approach his old chum the Scarecrow in the Emerald City had never arisen. A good thing, too, as the Scarecrow had stepped down or been stepped over. Indeed, Flyswatter-speaking for the demimonde-insisted that the Scarecrow had disappeared. The power in the EC now devolved upon the improbable person of Sh.e.l.l Thropp, who had boasted publicly of his estrangement from his famous and powerful sisters, Nessarose and Elphaba. And then he had ordained himself Emperor.

On what authority? He'd had a conversion. The Unnamed G.o.d had chosen him to lead Oz. The Unnamed G.o.d had selected in Sh.e.l.l a servant and a steward of this great people, this deserving nation, this heap of goodness, this blessed verdant pasture ringed by stinging deserts...well, the rhetoric was almost as bountiful as the moral surcease with which Oz credited itself.

Brrr took little notice, except to be glad he hadn't needed to approach the Palace of the Emperor of Oz. Instead, he involved himself in more traditional credits of the double-entry bookkeeping sort.

The banks didn't like seeing their deposits dwindle, but those in the know were always muttering about the cost of an impending military strike. Who could say when deposits might be impounded by the Throne for the purpose of funding the army? If the banks could charge 30 percent for every withdrawal by an Animal and then use magical accounting to disappear their earnings as thoroughly as Ozma herself had been disappeared, they were in some ways ahead.

Any in-house scruples were easily suppressed. A certain Loyalist strain had never accepted that Shiz banks should be holding Animal funds in the first place. Tainted!

So the banks prospered in the short term, and hid their gains; the Animals received some capital after a long period of penury; and Brrr thrived. His own account acc.u.mulated like-well, like magic. He paid off old debts involving Ampleton Quarters, and he invested shrewdly in the less gaudy of Hiiri Furkenstael's gilded engravings. Not for trade, but for his own pleasure.

The Lion ran into Piarsody Scallop one afternoon at the Fine Engraving Exchange this side of Ticknor Circus. She had not aged well, growing purple in the face and kitted out in an unsuitably girlish gown, all white ruches and pink furbelows. Her boot was undone because she suffered from elephant ankle. The malady forced one shoulder lower to the floor than the other, but Miss Scallop bolted upright with surprise to see him. She came stumping across the sawdusty floor with both hands flung in the air as if she were about to hurl a watermelon. He cut her.

He lived it up, he put on weight, becoming almost portly as befitted a gentleman in middle age. He ate well. It showed.

He called it gravitas, but it was mostly gravy. He was swimming in gravy.

Until the gravy boat spilled him.

It happened so slowly this time, so genteelly, that he didn't even see it coming. He paid little attention to conversations in the club about the need of an Animal workforce to sh.o.r.e up the Gillikinese manufacturing sector. No significant improvement noted in that area yet, worried the captains of industry. But Sir Brrr-he used the t.i.tle now-didn't feel implicated. For one thing, he wasn't a laborer himself, as was patently clear. For the second, though he had initially proposed to the Shiz banks that a loosening of monetary policy would result in a rise of Animal workers hunting for jobs, the bankers seemed to be exercising due patience. The banks were still culling huge fees from the withdrawals. "What do they have to complain about?" he muttered to his valet, expecting no answer. Flyswatter gave him none.

Whatever else was barked and bellowed, Loyal Oz saw no return to the Animal Adverse laws. In fact, those h.o.a.ry old containment strategies were retired in ceremonies dripping with public symbolism. COME HOME TO OZ COME HOME TO OZ read the full-page government advertis.e.m.e.nts. read the full-page government advertis.e.m.e.nts.

"Ha," said Brrr to Flyswatter. "Come home to Oz. That'll be the day."

"What day would that be, sir?"

Brrr explained. The Animals who had emigrated to Munchkinland or to the outback of the Vinkus remained cautious about emerging from their obscurity. Hardly better integrated into the Free State of Munchkinland, where the Wizard's Animal Adverse laws had landed a weaker blow, many Animals nonetheless lived in relative tranquility. "Exiled for a generation now, some of them, they go largely unmolested about the rural reaches of the Hardings and the Fallows. They keep to themselves. They've found their safe haven and they'll stick to it. Smart of them, too, don't you think?"

"I wouldn't know, sir."

Brrr thought it over. Few Animals tried to reinvent themselves in Shiz or the Emerald City as he had done. Abroad-in Fliaan, in Ix-it was another matter, but the sands that surrounded Oz made it likely that anyone who managed to survive an oversand trek to a foreign country stayed there.

Oz-Loyal and not-remained, in all its own breadth and vitality and distance, isolated from anything like a comity of nations. The vessel had yet to be built that could sail the desert sands on sledge runners, though inventors and madmen had imagined such a thing for generations.

"Troops ama.s.sing on the Munchkinland border, they say," he murmured to Flyswatter once. The valet was giving him a whisker trim. "That long-antic.i.p.ated strike against Munchkinland's life support?"

"What life support would that be, sir?"

"The lake called Rest.w.a.ter. Huge thing. Don't you read the papers?"

"I keep to myself, sir."

Brrr turned to the financials. It looked as if Sh.e.l.l, the human Emperor of Oz, had run his treasury bankrupt by building up the military for the possible invasion.

"That's enough for now, Flyswatter." Brrr decided to get to the bank. He'd seen that the Emperor's chancellor had ordered an audit of the banks, hoping to find pennies of taxable profit.

The bank manager was too busy to see him. He came home and watched the matter unfold in the papers, listened to the gossip in the clubs.

Hold on, cried the auditors. What's this? Shiz deposits draining into the breakaway state of Munchkinland?

Possibly funding the military of that upstart nation?

And in a time of social unrest, what with the labor shortage, the drought still upon them, the tax base eroding as incomes fell?

Fie, cried the chancellor, and the bankers shrugged, and the fie! fie! rolled off their shoulders. It lay like a judgment upon the shoulders of Brrrr. rolled off their shoulders. It lay like a judgment upon the shoulders of Brrrr.

Or perhaps Flyswatter turned him in. In any event, the constabulary showed up one morning and the valet had bolted, so Brrr answered the door himself. He was wearing a regrettably adorable robe, beige satin woven with stripes of darker beige, and pink piping, very cuddly, very oh-what-a-night-and his mane went every which way. b.u.mblebee advocates of the new journalism-on-the-spot flash-lit photogravures-were waiting behind the shoulder of the constable to ambush the Lion.

"Aiding and abetting the enemy," said the constable, as if p.r.o.nouncing a sartorial crime. "Is that a Rampini knockoff?"

"It's an original," said Brrr, letting it drop to the floor. The nakedness of Animals always made humans profoundly uncomfortable. It was the best he could do as a protest, given such short notice. "Am I allowed to dress myself?"

"We're gentlemen here. Make it snappy, though." CLAP HIM IN CHAINS CLAP HIM IN CHAINS said the caption that evening, and said the caption that evening, and IF SIR BRRR LIKES STRIPES SO MUCH, WE CAN SHOW HER SOME STRIPES IN A PRISON GARMENT IF SIR BRRR LIKES STRIPES SO MUCH, WE CAN SHOW HER SOME STRIPES IN A PRISON GARMENT.

Clap some more as he is led to prison, was the point, and we go free for the virtue of our fingering him.

"I am only a delivery service," Brrr declared to the court registrar. "You want the bankers, not me."

The registrar raised her eyebrow. Brrr knew she was saying: Bankers are always pure. Bankers are purer than priests. Something about money insulates them in virtue.

"I charge you with fraud, to start with," said the first magistrate he saw in Shiz, known as the doorbell magistrate for his job of cobbling together the initial court definition of an indictment. "You're a villain."

"I charge you with exaggeration," shot back the Lion. "I'm a fall guy."

The accusation of fraud was entered into the register-fraud perpetrated not against the victims, for some reason (who regards victims?), but against the banks themselves. Fraud in the service of treason. (Had he been turned in by one of his pool-hall cronies?) The complaints were written in such convoluted language that Brrr couldn't follow them. Nonetheless, his gizzard seemed cooked, but good.

His offer to pay back to the banks any funds deemed to have been illegally skimmed off the released Animal accounts was met with "no comment." The court wasn't in a mood for bargaining. Brrr spent a few weeks in a holding pen, no worse a lodging than that old ministerial croft in which Professor Lenx and Mister Mikko were entering their dotage. One night the Lion was bundled into a special convicts' train that traveled at midnight from Shiz to the capital. Within a mile or two of the Emperor's Palace, Brrr knew, hunched Southstairs, the underground prison carved on the site of a megalithic tomb. He imagined the place as a ma.s.sive mouth of Oz. It ground its stony gullet, waiting for Brrr's carca.s.s.