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Chapter Text

"Do you know where Glinda came from?" asked Trot.

Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin regarded their younger companion thoughtfully from across the breakfast table in Dorothy's sitting room. "As far as I know," Dorothy said, "she's always been here."

"And she's the most powerful sorceress in Oz," Betsy added. "Not considering Ozma, of course, but then fairy magic's diff'rent."

Trot frowned. "But if that's so," she said, "why didn't she do something way back when Ozma's father was deposed? Or when old Mombi hid Ozma? Wouldn't her Great Book of Records have told her what was happening?"

Now Dorothy's expression clouded. "You'd think so. I know Glinda looked for Ozma, but didn't find her -- not till they actually caught old Mombi, anyway. It's a mystery, I guess."

"You could ask the Wizard," Betsy suggested. "He was here long before any of us were, and he learned his real-wizard magic from her."

"That's a good idea," said Trot, before turning her attention back to her scrambled eggs. The conversation slowed as the three girls ate their breakfasts. Betsy excused herself soon afterward to go and visit her mule, Hank, and Dorothy's dog Toto padded into the room not long afterward. Trot gave Toto's ears a friendly scratch as she stood up from the table, and went off in search of the Wizard of Oz.

# # #

"Good morning, my dear," the Wizard said, looking up from the book he was reading. A word from Jellia Jamb had directed the girl to the palace library, and indeed, when Trot pushed open the room's enormous oaken door, she found the little man seated comfortably in an oversized armchair, next to a table where several bulky volumes were stacked. "How may I be of service?"

Trot seated herself in a second chair opposite the Wizard's, though she was small enough that she nearly sank out of sight into the cushion, and her feet didn't quite reach the floor. "Do you know where Glinda came from?"

The Wizard blinked, his expression flickering from a dark look to a faintly puzzled cast. "That's a curious question," he said at last. "If I may ask, why do you want to know?"

Trot was silent for some moments, considering. "Two reasons, I guess. Plain curiosity, for one. From what I've picked up since coming to Oz, there's bits of history that don't quite fit with what ev'ryone knows about Glinda. For the other . . . well, I've been thinking. She seems just awfully alone way down in her castle in Quadling country, and we only ever go visit her when something big's gone wrong and needs fixing. That doesn't seem right; we ought to be better friends with her than that. So I thought if I knew more about Glinda, maybe I'd understand her a little more."

"Dear me," said the Wizard, looking more genuinely surprised than Trot had ever seen him. "You really have thought things out."

Trot blushed a little. "Yes, well, once you've lived in Oz long enough, you find a lot of time to think. So, what can you tell me about Glinda? You prob'ly know her better than the rest of us do."

"That's true," the Wizard admitted. "She taught me virtually all I know of true magic, and she has ruled the Quadlings since well before I first came to Oz. But she has not taught me all that she knows by any means, and in all the time I've known her she has said nothing of her own history."

"That's just peculiar," Trot said. "It doesn't seem right for her to be so . . . solitary. Do you s'pose Ozma knows more about Glinda than we do?"

The Wizard pursed his lips. "Perhaps -- and perhaps not. As ruler of Oz, she is certainly entitled to the knowledge. But Ozma would be unlikely to inquire into Glinda's personal affairs save at great need, and so far as I know, that need has never arisen."

"But . . ." Trot paused, frustrated. "There's nobody left to ask, 'cept Glinda herself, and that wouldn't be . . . ." She trailed off.

"It is something of a puzzle," the Wizard replied. "However, you are quite right in one way. Glinda commands great respect in Oz, but she deserves more affection than she receives. That should be remedied -- but like you, I am not sure how to go about it."

"Should we talk to Ozma?" Trot asked.

The Wizard thought for a moment. "Not yet, I think. Unfortunately, a grand party in Glinda's honor is precisely the wrong way to solve this particular problem--"

"And that's exactly what Ozma would suggest," Trot finished. "So what do we do?"

The Wizard stood up, shrugged, and reached forward to help Trot rise from her chair. "Let me think on the matter," he said.
"Perhaps an idea will come to me -- or at least a way to approach Ozma."

Trot scowled for a moment, then sighed and nodded. "I hope so."

# # #

Late that afternoon, however, Trot was walking aimlessly through the palace gardens with Cap'n Bill when a silver-winged hummingbird zipped down out of the sky, fluttered to a landing atop an emerald-green rosebush, and lifted one claw to display a tiny wisp of paper wrapped around it. "Message for the Princess Trot!" the bird trilled.

Startled, Trot leaned forward and carefully unwound the little strip, which promptly unfolded itself in her hand to become a full-sized sheet of elegant notepaper, which read:

You are very welcome to come and visit; we have a great deal to talk about. When you are ready, tell my messenger, and transport will be arranged.
--Yours, Glinda.

"What's this?" Cap'n Bill demanded as the hummingbird flitted to a new perch on Trot's shoulder.

The little girl stroked its feathers lightly as she explained her morning's conversations with Dorothy, Betsy, and the Wizard of Oz. "I don't know why I'm s'prised," she said. "Glinda must have read all about it in the Great Book, and now she's invited me to come see her."

"Well, then," said Cap'n Bill, tapping his wooden leg lightly against the ground, "I 'spect I'd better come along just to be safe."

Trot looked up at him earnestly. "Just this once, I think I'd better go by myself," she said. "Next to right here, Glinda's castle's about the safest place in Oz. And I'm sure she'll be more comfortable talking to just me. As nice a note as this is, I 'spect it wasn't easy for her to write."

The old seaman sighed. "That's sensible, I guess, but I don't know as I like it."

"It'll be all right, I promise. But we'd better go let people know where I'm going; it wouldn't do not to." Trot tilted her head to address the hummingbird, which flitted from her shoulder to her hand. "Tell Glinda I'll be ready first thing tomorrow," she said.

"Tomorrow!" it trilled. "Thank you!" And it leapt into the air, wings beating too fast to see, and zipped out of sight in an instant.

# # #

The next morning, Trot woke to hear the beat of wings as they passed her window. She quickly got up, dressed, collected the valise she had packed the night before, and hurried to the roof of the palace. Glinda's aerial chariot and the swans that pulled it were there waiting for her -- and so was the Wizard.

Trot smiled at him as he loaded her valise into the chariot. "You expected this, didn't you?"

"Hoped for it, at least," the Wizard said. "That she has responded so quickly is a good sign, I think. And now you had best be off; it wouldn't do to keep Glinda waiting."

"No, indeed," said Trot, clambering aboard. At once, the swans spread their wings, rose smoothly into the early morning sky, and turned southward toward the Quadling country and their mistress's castle.

Chapter Text

Glinda's castle was a considerable journey from the Emerald City by road, even with the Sawhorse and the Red Wagon, but the swan chariot made the trip in a single day, alighting on its mistress's roof early in the evening. A cluster of servants greeted Trot; two of them helped her down from the cushioned seat and collected her valise, while others cared for the swans and the chariot itself. Soon Trot found herself in a suite of rooms nearly as fine as those she called her own in Ozma's palace. There she was able to rest a little from the journey, comb her windblown hair, and change into a fresh dress. Soon after all these had been accomplished, a footman knocked softly at the entrance to Trot's rooms. "Princess Trot," said the young man, "will you do my mistress the honor of joining her for supper?"

"Just Trot will do," she told him. Though she was in fact a Princess, having been so named by the folk of the Ozure Isles after an adventure there, she was unused to so much formality. "And yes, please."

"Very good, Prin- er, Miss Trot," the footman said. "Follow me, please."

Trot did so, and was slightly surprised when he led her past the castle's formal banquet chamber. Instead, he unlocked an ornately carved door that opened into a corridor with redwood-paneled walls and a floor tiled in two different shades of red marble, then knocked again at the second of several more intricately crafted doors.

"Come in," came Glinda's voice. The footman opened the door and ushered Trot through, then bowed and retired.

Trot stood quietly for a moment, taking in her surroundings. This was, she realized, the sitting room of Glinda's own suite, in the most private part of the sorceress's castle. The walls and floor, like those of the outer hallway, were of Quadling-colored redwood and marble, but the curtains and wall hangings were mostly of the gleaming silver Glinda was known to favor. A writing-desk against one wall was cluttered with pens and papers, untidy heaps of books were stacked on one end of a silver-cushioned window seat and the opposite end of a long couch, and Glinda herself sat at one end of a cozy table spread with steaming silver bowls, platters . . . and a few more books. She was clad very simply in a dress of dark, shimmering crimson that reached to her ankles, and she waved Trot toward the empty chair beside her own place. "Please sit down," she said cheerfully. "I'm sure you're hungry after the flight."

Glinda's open, friendly manner contrasted so sharply with the cool formality she normally projected that Trot blinked and swallowed before replying. "That's so," she said, accepting the offered seat. "Jellia packed sandwiches, of course, but we were going so fast I thought the ham and cheese might just blow away while I was holding onto the bread."

Glinda laughed aloud. "That actually happened to me once, a long time ago. I spent six months tinkering with the charm that keeps things from falling out of the chariot before I figured out how to make it hold sandwiches together. Here, now, try one of these." She held out a plate of rolls, and for a little while the conversation focused almost entirely on food.

Soon enough, however, Trot's appetite was thoroughly satisfied. As she sipped delicately at a glass of sparkling strawberry juice, she leaned back in her chair and regarded her hostess with a serious expression. "That was wonderful," she said sincerely, "but you didn't fly me all the way here just to have dinner."

"No," Glinda admitted, "or at least, not exactly. But dinner was a part of it, and a very pleasant one. That you have come at all means a great deal, and I am more grateful than you know that you are here. Come," she said, rising from the table and leading Trot over to the couch, where she pushed books aside to make room for the two of them.

Trot regarded the sorceress curiously as she curled herself at one end of the couch. "Just what did the Great Book say about me yesterday, then?" she asked.

Glinda thought for a moment. "The Princess Trot," she quoted, "made certain inquiries of Dorothy Gale and the Wizard of Oz regarding the history and character of Glinda the Good, expressing the desire to relieve the sorceress's loneliness and to become a friend to her."

The younger girl sucked in a startled breath. "Good heavens," she said. "That Book's awfully direct, isn't it?"

"The Great Book of Records is not known for subtlety," agreed Glinda, chuckling slightly, "although it is sometimes less specific than one might wish. However, it has never, ever been wrong," she finished. There was, Trot noted, a distinctly hopeful note in the sorceress's voice, and she seemed suddenly reluctant to meet Trot's eyes directly.

Trot took a deep breath. "And it still isn't," she said firmly, then added, "but that means you really have been lonely, doesn't it?"

There was both relief and resignation in Glinda's sigh. "Very much so."

Trot scooted closer to Glinda on the couch, taking one of her hands. "You don't have to be, not any more."
"Perhaps not," Glinda said, "but to truly put that loneliness aside, I must share a secret I have kept for a very long time."
"I can keep secrets," said Trot, "if it's needed."

"I don't doubt it," Glinda replied. "Do not fear, though; this is one that Ozma and the Wizard should know as well."

"That's good," Trot said. "What about Dorothy?"

Glinda frowned. "A very good question; perhaps you can help me answer it."

"Good heavens," Trot said again. "All right, then, what is this big secret?"

The sorceress took a deep breath, let it out, and took another.

"Simply this," she said at last. "Like you and Dorothy and Betsy Bobbin, I came to Oz from the mortal world."

Chapter Text

Trot stared at Glinda, shocked into silence. "But you've been here practically forever! And you know so much magic? How . . . ?"

"Not quite forever," Glinda said, smiling faintly, "though it has sometimes seemed so. And I was once as much a novice at sorcery as you are."

"That's hard to believe," Trot said.

"But true, nonetheless," said Glinda. "In some ways I have been amazingly fortunate; I have had many, many years to learn and master my craft."

"Tell me about it, then," begged Trot. "How did you get to Oz in the first place?"

Glinda's expression darkened, but only for a moment. "An accident," she said, "but of a different kind than yours, or Betsy's, or the Wizard's. I once lived in a country called England, where I was housemaid to a man named John Dee. Doctor Dee, as he was called, was an advisor to Queen Elizabeth, and a dabbler in alchemy and astrology."

Trot frowned. "Like the Wizard when he was a humbug?"

"Not exactly," Glinda said. "Much of Doctor Dee's magic was mere stagecraft, but he knew a little of the true art. A very little, as it turned out. He was forever trying to contact the higher planes, opening channels between his world and elsewhere -- and one afternoon, he actually succeeded. He was so surprised that he knocked over a tea-table, and when I came to see what had happened, I stumbled over the table, straight through the portal he'd opened -- and right into this very chamber. The portal closed behind me, and that was that."

"I don't think I ever read about Doctor Dee," Trot said, "but I do remember something about Queen 'Lizabeth. Didn't she rule about three hundred years or so before -- well, before when I was born?"

Glinda nodded. "She did."

"So you're--" Trot stopped, not entirely sure of the numbers she wanted.

"A great deal older than I look," Glinda said, smiling. "I was just seventeen when I arrived. Of course," she added, "you also look just as you did when you first came to Oz, and that has been a good many years by the mortal calendar."

"And you landed right here?" Trot asked, waving a hand in a gesture that took in the whole room.

"I did. Mind you, the room was a great deal dustier, and the furnishings were quite different."

Trot's expression grew puzzled. "So who was living here back then?"

Glinda shook her head. "That," she said, "is the one mystery I've never solved. When I came, the castle was long abandoned; the locals believed it to be haunted. Clearly someone had lived here once -- and whoever it was had assembled a great collection of books and instruments on magic and sorcery. But he or she must have disappeared long before I arrived."

"Wouldn't the Great Book of Records tell who it was?" asked Trot.

"You would think so," Glinda said. "But so far as I can tell, when the castle's previous occupants vanished, they disappeared so thoroughly that they erased themselves from the Great Book in the process. The castle itself is barely mentioned prior to my own arrival."

"That's kind of scary," said Trot. "And nobody came along to claim anything?"

"Apparently not. The local townsfolk were very surprised when I first came out of the castle -- they concluded at once that I was a witch, and fell all over themselves to avoid any chance of making me angry. For my part, I stayed inside the castle as much as I could. I realized almost at once that this was a magical country, and since I knew no magic at all, I was desperate not to attract the notice of any real witches."

"No magic at all?" Trot echoed.

"Not at first," said Glinda. "What I did know, fortunately, was how to read -- both English and Latin, in fact. Doctor Dee had taught me that much. I spent most of my first few years here buried in books, teaching myself as much about magic as I could. As you see," she added, gesturing around the room with a laugh, "I am still studying, and I still have a great deal to learn. There are hundreds of books in this castle that I haven't even opened yet, and every so often I discover another room full of ancient lore or arcane equipment that the prior tenant had hidden away."

Trot's expression was fascinated. "And what about the real witches? Mombi, and Tattypoo, and so on?"

Glinda gave her a faintly shame-faced look. "To be honest," she said, "I paid most of them very little attention early on, and for the most part, they returned the favor. I came to Oz a good many years before Pastoria -- Ozma's father -- was King; in that time, the rulers of the Emerald City paid little attention to the four outlying countries, and the outlying lands had little in the way of central government. On one hand, that meant that a good many wicked witches established themselves in various parts of Oz; on the other, the witches kept busy enough fighting with each other that few of them did very much lasting harm."

"But some of them did," Trot put in. "Mombi, and the two Dorothy destroyed."

"True enough," Glinda admitted. "The Wicked Witches of the East and West were the worst of their kind, and when they first took over the Winkie and Munchkin countries they were too strong for me to attack directly. I had gained enough influence by then to be acknowledged as the greatest power here in the south -- mostly by putting two of the worst southern witches to sleep for a century apiece -- but I was still very much afraid of what they might do if challenged, and I didn't know very much about how their witchcraft actually worked. So I waited and studied instead of taking action, and in that sense, I suppose I am partly responsible for what happened to Pastoria and Ozma."

Trot spoke up fiercely. "You don't know that! That was mostly Mombi's fault, and she lived up in Gillikin country. Besides, maybe you were right; maybe you did need more time to get strong enough to beat old Mombi."

Glinda sighed. "Perhaps. That was before I found the Great Book of Records, for one thing."

"Found it?" asked Trot. "Was it lost?"

The sorceress chuckled. "This castle is full of hidden rooms and chambers," she said. "The Great Book was in one of them; I came across it some while after the Wizard first took over the Emerald City, but it was locked tight shut -- the book, not the room. I tried for a long time to open the locks, but they refused to yield until after Ozma was restored to power -- and then the book unsealed itself all on its own. I believe its magic may be linked to the rulers of Oz themselves, so that Mombi, in transforming Ozma as she did, might have sealed up the Book by accident."

Trot frowned thoughtfully. "That makes sense, I guess. And it explains why you had so much trouble finding Ozma back then -- she and the Book were hidden from each other."

"Perhaps so," said Glinda, just as thoughtfully. "I hadn't considered the problem in that light before. You have a good head for magic, Trot."

The younger girl's eyebrows went up. "Me? I'm about as ordinary as you get, 'cept maybe for the fairy mark, and that was a gift pure and simple."

But Glinda smiled, and for the first time since Trot had arrived, the smile reached all the way into her eyes. "And that makes two of us," she said. "I was just as ordinary as you were, once -- more so, even, for I never had a fairy mark."

"You surely aren't ordinary now, though," Trot retorted. "You're the most powerful sorceress in Oz!"

"So people say," replied Glinda. "But my powers are far from infinite. Ozma's magic is just as strong, though it comes from a different source, and I'm sure there are spells and arts I know nothing about. As for you -- you've had more adventures than I by far, and seen lands I will never visit. You may have been ordinary once, Trot, but that was long ago and far away."

Trot's face wrinkled briefly, as if in disbelief -- but then she gave Glinda a sudden, girlish grin. "Well, then," she said mischievously, "I guess we'll just have to get used to being extraordinary together, won't we?"

Glinda stared back for a long, silent moment . . . and then she wrapped Trot in a fierce, exuberant hug. "So we will," she said some time later, a little breathlessly. "So we will."