The Statue Got Me High

In honor of the ninetieth anniversary of Ruth Plumly Thompson's The Giant Horse of Oz, I started working on a story about Benny, the living statue. His back story was very rushed, so I wanted to expand upon it a bit, and hopefully make it somewhat more logical, if still rather convoluted. I'd also written about the warring Zurgors and Gurzors in an earlier story, and decided to use them again here. My original goal was to have this tale ready in time for this year's OzCon, but instead I ended up submitting one I'd started years ago but only just finished recently, "The Giant Weasel of Oz." It ended up winning second place in the fiction contest. I'm wondering if I should post that one as well, but for now here's the Benny story. Any feedback is welcome.

THE PUBLIC BENEFACTOR OF OZ

By Nathan M. DeHoff



“I’ll admit, Benny, I’m still a little confused by how you came to life,” said Dorothy. She was currently sitting at a table in the Scarecrow’s corn-shaped mansion, accompanied by the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and a living statue named Benny. The last of these had mysteriously arrived in Oz from Boston some years previously, and claimed to be the statue of a great public benefactor.

“I’ve told you all I know,” stated the statue. “A man brought me to life with something he read from a book, but he didn’t seem to know that’s what would happen, as he ran away. Then I fell into a hole and ended up outside the Emerald City.”

“I’d sure like to read what was in that book. I mean, if it could bring you to life without any powder or anything, it must have been really powerful.”

“And probably dangerous,” added the Scarecrow. “I wonder if it would still be in Boston.”

“I have no way of knowing,” admitted Benny. “The man threw it into some bushes when he ran off.”

“It’s very curious. I mean, Nick was a meat person before he had his parts replaced with tin, and the Scarecrow had sort of a transferred spirit,” said Dorothy.

“Dr. Pipt did think he recognized traces of the Powder of Life on my body, but he wasn’t quite sure,” said the straw man.

“Scraps, the Glass Cat, Jack Pumpkinhead, the Sawhorse, and the Gump were all brought to life with the powder. Prob’ly some others I can’t remember now, too.”

“That phonograph, Victor Columbia Edison.”

“Right.”

“And Glinda and the Wizard think there was some powder involved in bringing the houses in the Emerald City to life,” put in Nick Chopper.

“Oh, yes. They’re mostly quiet now, though. Leon the Neon and Flicker were meat people first, too. And I brought Humpy to life with sand from the Wish Way.”

“Then could wishing sand be used to bring anything to life?”

“Don’t ask me! I’ve only ever been there by accident. Even when Ozma and I tried going back to where I remembered it being before, it wasn’t there. Of course, there are a lot of communities around Oz where we still don’t know how they’re alive. I know Bunbury and the Cuttenclips were Glinda’s work.”

“The Loons looked to be made of rubber, and I don’t know how they came to life,” said the Scarecrow.

“Yes, and so was the Rubber Band, and those rubber dolls who live in the Gillikin Country. Squee Gees, I think they’re called? And that bear who lives with John Dough. And he was brought to life by an Arabian elixir, right?”

“And the last of it, if I recall correctly.”

“Wasn’t there another living statue in Oz?” inquired Benny.

“The giant one who tried to turn the Cowardly Lion to stone. That was also the Powder of Life, or something a lot like it.”

“What about the Lavender Bear?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“I think he and his subjects were created by fairies. I guess that could be true of other places, too. Benny, the man who read that book wasn’t a fairy, was he?”

“I’d never heard of fairies when it happened, but from the ones I’ve met after that, I can’t say he looked like one,” answered the statue.

The Scarecrow was about to say something, when a loud clanking noise came from outside. The four friends ran out of the building to see a metal device come to a landing.

“It’s an airship, but not an Ozoplane,” said Dorothy.

“It looks quite rickety,” observed the Tin Woodman. “Fairly sleek design, but in bad repair.”

A hatch opened, and three men emerged. They were tall, with gray skin, and wore gray jackets and pants with thick boots. When they saw Benny, one of them exclaimed, “It’s you!”, and all three began bowing to the statue.

“Well, I’m certainly myself, but I’m not sure who you think I am,” stated Benny.

“Why, the great General who led our forces to victory!”

“I’m pretty sure I never did that. Nick here led an army before. Maybe you’re looking for him?”

“You DO appear to have a different body. Rather harder material, it looks like,” said one of the other men.

“The prophecy said he’d come back in a different but recognizable form, you know,” declared the third man, who had a long beard.

“Well, THIS sounds familiar,” muttered Nick to the Scarecrow.

“Believe me, Benny, you don’t want to get mixed up with past lives,” stated the straw man. “I didn’t much care for being Emperor of the Silver Island.”

“Benny? Is that any way to address the General Benvolio?” asked the first stranger.

“I didn’t know I HAD another name,” stated Benny. “I got my name because I’m the statue of a great public benefactor in Boston.”

“That’s in the Outside World, in the United States,” explained Dorothy.

“Never heard of it,” said the second stranger.

“You see, he can’t be your General, because he’s from Boston.”

“I see no contradiction,” declared the third gray man. “When the General disappeared, he must have somehow arrived in this Boston place, and been turned into a statue.”

“Wouldn’t I remember having been human before?” questioned Benny. “Nick does.”

“But I don’t,” said the Scarecrow. “So it’s possible, but I don’t know why anyone would want to be a general in…where did you say you were from again?”

“The nation of…Zurgoria,” said the second man, with a groan. “Gurzoria by rights, but the Zurgors are in charge now.”

“You were the one destined to conquer the Zurgors and take back our rightful place as rulers of the country,” put in the third man.

“But I don’t know how to be a military leader,” objected Benny.

“Oh, it will come back to you eventually,” declared the second gray man. “You were one of our finest guerilla leaders.”

“Are you saying Benny was an APE?” questioned Dorothy.

“No, I think he means someone who keeps his troops hidden in battle, so as to take the enemy by surprise,” explained the Scarecrow.

“But isn’t the whole point of an army to look impressive?” asked Nick, obviously confused.

“Look, enough of this!” shouted the first man. “Let’s get him into the plane and back home!” And with that, the three men grabbed the statue, who immediately swung his arm and knocked them over. As they were getting up, a claw emerged from the airplane and grabbed Benny, who unsuccessfully struggled to get away. The three men crawled on board as well, and the craft took off with no runway, flying straight up.

“I wonder what it runs on,” said the Tin Woodman. “There isn’t any balloon, like with the Ozoplanes.”

“No time for that now!” shouted the Scarecrow, running back into his home. He emerged with a small rug with a Persian-style design of yellow, blue, green, purple, and red; and called to Dorothy and Nick to get on. He then yelled, “Follow that airship!”, and the carpet soared into the air and toward the west.

“Where did you get a flying carpet?” asked Dorothy.

“Ozma gave it to me. It used to belong to her great-grandfather, back in ancient times.”

The rug pursued the plane over the Winkie Country, then the Deadly Desert, the Land of Ev, and the great Nonestic Ocean. “I figured they were from outside Oz,” said the Scarecrow, “but not off the continent entirely.”

“I must say that plane can fly quite fast for being so rickety,” observed Nick. “I suppose it’s some sort of jet.”

“Benny and the jet, eh?”

After flying across the ocean for about an hour, the airplane and the carpet finally reached land, which the Scarecrow said, “Doesn’t look like Ot’samaland, does it?”

“I think Ozma said there was another cont’nent to the west, but I don’t know much about it,” admitted Dorothy. “I think it’s where Handy Mandy’s sister comes from.”

The land where the Ozites now found themselves was largely forested, with patches of tall grass in between. As the plane began to descend, the Tin Woodman called out, “We’re under attack!”

Sure enough, a cannon was aimed straight at the carpet. In order to avoid the cannonball, the Scarecrow steered the rug toward a nearby stone castle with high turrets. They came in for a landing in the courtyard, where a group of gray-skinned people with spears rushed out and surrounded them. They were followed by a tall woman, who exclaimed, “You’re not Gurzors!”

“Why would you even think we were?” asked Dorothy.

“Because those lowlifes are always attacking the castle. Well, if you’re not Gurzors, then you might as well swear your undying loyalty to Roz, Great Leader of the Zurgors and the Nation of Zurgoria.”

“We can’t do that. We already have a ruler.”

“I’m an Emperor,” declared Nick proudly, “and Dorothy here is a Princess. We’re loyal subjects of Ozma of Oz.”

“Wait, this Ozma of Oz is more powerful than an Emperor?” inquired one of the guards.

“We’re a bit loose with the titles in Oz,” admitted the Scarecrow, “but all of us respect the rule of Ozma.”

“Have you ever heard of this Oz?” questioned the tall woman.

“It’s one of the countries on the east side of the ocean,” declared a small man in a tall hat, who emerged from behind a door. “An enchanted fairyland, if I recall correctly.”

“Oh, one of THOSE places. All lollipop trees and eternal sunshine and lions and lambs living together in harmony.”

“Oh, we don’t have eternal sunshine,” returned the Tin Woodman. “It still rains, much to my chagrin. Of course, if it weren’t for the rain, none of our beautiful flowers would grow. Or the lollipop trees, for that matter.”

“Wait, there really ARE lollipop trees?”

“They have them in the Candy Country in the Gillikin Country,” answered Dorothy. “And lions and lambs don’t always get along, but some of them are friends. The Cowardly Lion gets on with Lambert. ‘Course, he IS ‘ceptionally gentle for a lion.”

“So is this a non-magical country?” inquired the Scarecrow.

“Oh, we have magic, but only for practical purposes,” stated the short man.

“Lollipop trees aren’t practical?” objected Nick.

“I suppose there might be situations when they would be. Too sweet for my taste, though. Now, a mutton tree might be nice.”

“Why? The Gurzors would just burn it down,” said one of the guards.

“So what are we going to do with these strangers?” asked the woman.

Before anyone could answer, a man in armor came running into the courtyard, yelling, “The Gurzors are attacking!”

A group of other gray man came marching toward the castle, holding pitchforks and torches. They began surrounding the building.

“Pitchforks and torches? Aren’t those a little primitive?” questioned Nick.

“Speak for yourself!” shuddered the Scarecrow. “Those torches could reduce me to a pile of ash!”

“Not from in here, though,” said Dorothy.

Just then, however, the invading army waved their pitchforks, firing beams of light, while the torches threw flame toward the narrow windows. The inhabitants backed away and began preparing to retaliate. When the Tin Woodman noticed a few men placing a ladder against a wall, he alerted the Leader to this fact, and Roz commanded, “Prepare the boiling oil!”

“But oil is no good when it’s too hot!” objected Nick.

“It is for repelling invaders,” explained another one of the Zurgors. “You don’t seem to have much military experience.”

“I DID lead the Army of Oz in the mission to rescue the Royal Family of Ev!”

“Yes, but—” began the Scarecrow, before the Tin Man raised a finger to his mouth.

A loud thumping at the door indicated that some of the Gurzors were using a battering ram. They succeeded on smashing it in, and one soldier shot some fire toward the Scarecrow, but the Tin Woodman promptly stepped in front of it. He then used his axe to chop up the weapons of the nearby invaders, causing them to retreat. Although he was hit with a few light beams, they did nothing to slow him down.

“Wow! Fireproof AND laser-proof! We might have to sign him up as a mercenary,” advised a Zurgor officer.

“Well, technically, but they really did a number on my finish,” said Nick, as he examined his body. Still, he and the Scarecrow both agreed to sign up as mercenaries, swearing to a large, hairy man who did not have gray skin to pledge allegiance to “the Gurzors…um, I mean the Zurgors,” as long as there was money in it.

“They’re coming back!” exclaimed Dorothy.

“Come with me and man the cannons!” shouted an officer.

“I hope we’re getting paid extra for this,” said the mercenary commander.

The Ozites joined several of the Zurgors and mercenaries in climbing the steps of a tower, where a cannon was situated. After the cannon was aimed and the fuse lit, it fired out some artillery shells, which landed on a few of the Gurzors and trapped them inside what appeared to be giant seashells.

“They’re not going to die, are they?” questioned Nick Chopper.

“No, more’s the pity,” replied the officer.

“Well, that’s good.”

“Who invented these weapons, anyway?” asked the Scarecrow.

“They’re sold to us by the Ristillians,” stated the officer.

“And what about the Gurzors’ pitchforks and torches?”

“Probably also the Ristillians. There aren’t a whole lot of other military suppliers in the area.”

“So the Ristillians are the only ones profiting from this war?”

“We don’t need profit! We fight for glory and honor!” shouted the officer, as he stormed off in a huff. One of the mercenaries, however, winked and quietly said, “That’s pretty much the all of it. I’m Ristillian myself, y’know, and we’re always looking for opportunities for profit.”

“So how do they have the money to pay for all of this?”

“I wish I knew! They seem to have a lot of mineral wealth, but you never see anyone mining it.”

*******************************************************************************************

The rattle of the plane had prevented Benny from talking to his captors, and when they had landed, a group of people surrounded him and began asking questions before he could. “Is this really him?” “It certainly LOOKS like Benvolio!” “He even has the mark in the right place.” “How did you find him?”

“So who do you think I am?” questioned Benny, as soon as the commotion had died down.

“Benovolio, the guerilla leader of the Gurzor Resistance,” explained one man.

“But how can that be, when I’m the statue of a public benefactor?”

“Look, I don’t know much about magic, but the wizard we hired said he’d bring you back in some form, and you look exactly like Benvolio.”

“And what’s this about the mark on my face?”

“You mean he doesn’t know?” asked one of the bystanders.

“Why would he? He’s obviously lost his memory,” said the man who was answering Benny’s questions. “You see, all Gurzors have a mole on the left sides of their noses, and all Zurgors on the right side. In this case, the right side is not the correct one.”

“What if they have a wart on their nose and a cleaver in their neck?” asked Benny, who was thinking of a resident of the Isle of Phreex he had heard of. The man was confused by this, and simply replied, “Then he’d be dead, wouldn’t he?”

“I always wondered if the mole was just a mistake by my sculptor.”

“No, and they even gave you the right color skin.”

“Yes, but that’s just the color of granite, isn’t it? Are you Nomes?”

“No, we’re Gurzors, but we DO have an affinity for minerals, so maybe we’re distantly related. I am Maz, Prince of the Gurzors, at your service.”

“So why have you brought me here?”

“To fight the Zurgors, the fiends who have taken over this land!”

“And why can’t you just share it?”

“SHARE? Share with those right-moled monsters?” There was a muttering in the crowd after this. “If you hadn’t lost your memory, that could be considered blasphemy.”

“How do you know I’ve lost my memory? I was carved to be the statue of a person, a great public benefactor in the city of Boston. Are you sure he’s not the one you’re looking for?”

“Oh, he probably was, but his spirit has entered into you. Something like that, anyway. As I said, I’m not an expert on magic.”

Not knowing what else to do, the statue joined the Gurzors on their march to the Zurgors’ castle. On the way, his companions filled him in on his past exploits, the general history of the country, and the weapons they had purchased from the Ristillians. You have already read about the attack, which ended up not going so well. After the Gurzors were forced to retreat, one of them said, “Well, Ben, YOU’RE the great guerilla leader, so maybe YOU have some ideas?”

“Look, don’t be too hard on him,” said another. “He’ll come to his senses eventually.”

“I certainly hope not,” muttered Benny. Then, out loud, he said, “What if I go into the Zurgors’ castle to investigate it?

“And how do you plan to get in? Some transportation magic from the magical land of Ozton?”

“No, Oz and Boston are two different places. Very different, in fact. But the Zurgors don’t know I’m alive. If I just pose as an ordinary statue, a gift from a surrendering enemy, I should be able to get in.”

“I don’t know,” said another Gurzor. “They’ll probably be wary of Gurzors bearing gifts. Still, it’s worth a try.”

So Benny stood perfectly still, holding a white flag and with a note attached to his chest that read, “Please take this statue as a token of our surrender.” The Zurgors were indeed suspicious, but when Roz said, “It’s not like they could fit their army inside of one statue,” they brought him in and placed him in a supply room. As Nick Chopper noticed this, he quickly brought Dorothy and the Scarecrow into the room.

“Benny!” whispered the Scarecrow. “How did you get in here?”

“Oh, I just used a trick from that story about the giant wooden horse.”

“There’s a bigger version of the Sawhorse?” asked the Tin Woodman.

“No, this was in Troy, back in the age of myth,” explained Dorothy.

“Anyway, the Gurzors think I’m their leader in a new body, and this was the only way I could think of to get away with them. I wondered if the Zurgors would be able to see reason.”

“From what we’ve seen of them, not at all,” said Nick sadly. “I’ve tried to reach out to them, but they insist on fighting.”

“If only we could get to the carpet, at least we could get out of here,” observed the Scarecrow. “But they’ve locked it up in a vault.”

“Maybe if you could convince them it’s vital to the war effort?” suggested Benny.

*******************************************************************************************

In the Emerald City, the Wizard of Oz ran into Betsy Bobbin, Trot, and the Patchwork Girl, who were playing ozball outside the palace. When they noticed him, Betsy asked, “Wizard, wasn’t Dorothy supposed to be back today?”

“And the Scarecrow, too!” added Scraps. “You need more players to really get a good ozball game going.”

“I think they were, at that,” replied the Wizard. “Maybe we should check on them in the Magic Picture.”

The three girls followed the magician inside the palace and to Ozma’s sitting room, where the Picture, set in a greenwood frame, hung on a wall between a curtain. A command to this magical device to show Dorothy revealed that she, along with the Scarecrow, the Tin Woodman, and several gray-skinned men were inside a castle that appeared to be under siege.

“Looks dangerous,” observed Scraps. “Where is that, anyway?”

“It doesn’t look like anywhere in Oz,” said Trot.

“You know, those people look a lot like statues, but don’t move like them,” stated Betsy.

“Yes, sort of like Benny, except they all seem to have the mole on the other side of their noses.”

When the Wizard ordered the Picture to show the outside of the castle, Trot suddenly cried out, “Wait, that one IS Benny!”

“Are you sure? I don’t think any of them are really statues.”

“That one is! Just look at how stiffly he moves.”

“I believe this calls for more investigation,” stated the Wizard, who then rushed across the hall to his laboratory and into the elevator to his tower room, closely followed by the girls. Scraps flopped down on the floor, while the human girls sat in chairs that walked up to them. After a bit of fussing around with his Tattlescope, Searchlight, and Question Box, the magician said, “It looks like they’re in Zurgoria, a country on the other side of the Nonestic Ocean. The Box also says that Benny has come home, but it’s often cryptic.”

“Come home? I thought he was from Boston, not Zurg-whatever,” wondered Trot aloud. “He’s the statue of a public benefactor who was brought to life from a spell in a book, or something.”

“I’ve always wondered about that. It’s difficult to bring life with nothing but words, except possibly for a fairy.”

“There wasn’t any Powder of Life involved?” questioned Scraps.

“I don’t think so. There are other ways to bring things to life, but they generally all involve some sort of physical property. Let me see.” Taking a volume from a nearby bookshelf, the Wizard paged through it and said, “According to the Royal History, this Irishman who owned a second-hand shop just read from a small leather book, and the statue came to life. Even if it was just the words that did it, what are the chances he would have opened it to the right page?”

“Maybe the book turned there itself,” suggested Betsy.

“That’s not impossible, but it would still be an amazing coincidence. I have to wonder where the Royal Historians got their information.”

“Wasn’t it from Shaggy’s radio telegraph?”

“Some of it, yes, but they sometimes seem to have access to information that even Ozma and Glinda don’t.”

“Or they just make it up,” suggested the Patchwork Girl.

“That’s possible, but they’ve been known to show uncanny knowledge of things none of us knew before.”

“Like how you were a tyrannical dictator and the Wicked Witch of the West your daughter?”

“I know what you’re talking about, but that wasn’t by a royally sanctioned historian. I hear they made it into a musical, by the way. That might be interesting to see, as long as no one in the audience knows the villain was loosely based on me.”

“So where was the book from?” inquired Betsy.

“I haven’t seen anything about that.” The Wizard continued to read, and observed, “The Historian really doesn’t seem to think much of this Irishman, Danny. I’m mostly Irish, you know. Ah, here we are. ‘The owner of Danny’s dress suit must have been a powerful magician to bring this cold statue to life.’ She apparently didn’t have an actual source on that, though. It just looks like an assumption. Earlier he’s called…er, let me see…’a dusky gentleman in Grant Street.’ From Africa, perhaps? Or India?”

“No, dusky because he’s one of the Wizards of Dusk,” said a mysterious, deep voice from the other side of the room. Looking over there, the Ozites noticed a man whose skin really was dusk-colored, and who wore a gray sweatshirt and pants. “Ah, it’s good to be back in an uncivilized land again! That transportation takes a lot out of you.” And with that, the stranger collapsed on a table and immediately fell asleep. The table promptly shook the man off, and he woke as he landed on the floor. “I’m sorry. It was rude of me to use your furniture in that way.”

“I don’t really mind, but I don’t think the table likes it. So who are you, and how did you get into my tower?”

“Teleportation, naturally. Or unnaturally, as the case may be. My name is Twilor, and I’m one of the Wizards of Dusk from the west coast of the continent of Boomdeeay, not far from the estuary of the River Dee.”

“So you’re wizards of the coast?” inquired Scraps.

“I suppose so, but so are the Wizards of Dawn on the east side of the continent. There’s a bit of a rivalry between us.”

“Like the Sunrise and Sunset Tribes on Sky Island,” said Trot.

“I don’t know. I’ve never been to Sky Island, as far as I can remember.”

“So why teleport here?” inquired Betsy.

“It wasn’t really by choice. I can never be totally sure where I end up, although it’s often in some concentration of magical power. Not too many of them in the United States, mind you.”

“The United States! That’s where we’re from!” exclaimed Trot. “Well, not Scraps, of course.”

“Yes, I’ve been there for some time, transporting myself from one place to another, but none of them were fairylands.”

“How did you end up there in the first place?” questioned the Wizard of Oz.

“That was the result of a commission by the Gurzor leader Maz.”

“Gurzor? Isn’t that where Benny is?” asked Betsy.

“Zurgoria, I think,” corrected the Wizard.

“They’re from the same country,” explained Twilor. “The Zurgors and Gurzors have been at war for centuries, and the Zurgors currently have the upper hand.”

“What are they fighting about?” asked Trot.

“Nobody really knows anymore.”

“So they’re like you and the Wizards of Dawn?” questioned Scraps.

“There was a time when our tribes were at war, but now it’s more of a friendly rivalry. Not so with the Zurgors and Gurzors. Anyway, one of the Dawn Wizards had been paid by the Zurgors to get rid of one of the Gurzors’ top generals.”

“To kill him?” asked Trot.

“No, our magic isn’t used for killing. It turns out he was transported right out of the known world, into your United States. So I went there to bring him back. It turns out he’d had a lot of precious minerals from Zurgoria when he left, so he was able to become a public benefactor in the land of Massachusetts. But I didn’t find that out until much later, due to how many teleportations it took me to get there.”

“Maybe your magic is local instead of express,” suggested the Wizard.

“That could be. But anyway, by the time I got to this Boston place, the general had died. Fortunately, I have skill in necromancy.”

“So you brought him back to life?” asked Trot. “Was he a walking rotten corpse?”

“Oh, no, it doesn’t work that way. Instead, I was able to return the spirit to a likeness of the person. Since there was a statue made of the general, I thought it would be simple. But after I got there, I needed some money to get food, so I sold my suit. And it turns out my book of spells was still in there.”

“Then the statue must have been Benny!”

“Yes, his name was Benvolio, if I recall correctly. I had even come up with a way to transport him back to fairyland. I found the book in the bushes, but the statue had disappeared, and so had my transportation. I suppose the salesman I sold the suit to must have done the spell without knowing.”

“And then he ended up here in Oz.”

“Oh, so this is Oz? I’ve been here before, but that must have been years ago. Someone named Klestro wanted me to bring back the king.”

“Klestro? I knew him back in Morrow!” exclaimed the Wizard.

“Yes, Morrow. Definitely sounds like a place more fit for a Dawn Wizard than a Dusk one, but it’s where I ended up. I was able to make a stuffed figure of the king, but there was fairy magic mixed up in it, so my spell wouldn’t work. I’m not sure where it ended up, but I think the magic formula was written on it.”

“That must have been Pastoria, Ozma’s father!” said Betsy. “He’s actually living here in the Emerald City now, and so is the dummy. They have a tailor shop together.”

“Wait, the dummy came to life separately? I suppose that’s what happens when the fairies get involved.”

“Well, if Benny’s in Zurgoria, we have to get him back,” said Trot.

“Not to mention Dorothy, the Scarecrow, and Nick,” added Scraps.

“I’d do it, but I’m low on power right now,” stated Twilor.

“We can be there in a flash with my Ambassa-Door,” said the Wizard. With that, he led the way to a door that he opened, transporting everyone in the room into Roz’s castle. People were hurrying past, and one of them turned out to be the Scarecrow, who lost his balance and fell over upon seeing his friends, dropping a carpet in the process.

“Scarecrow!” called Scraps.

“Scraps? And Betsy, Trot, and the Wizard!” exclaimed the straw man.

“We’ve come to get you out of here. Where are Nick, Benny, and Dorothy?”

“They’re placating bombs.”

“What do you mean, placating bombs?” asked Betsy.

As if in answer to her question, the Tin Woodman walked into the hall holding a small, red, furry creature with sharp teeth. “This is one of the Gurzors’ bombs. They can be quite dangerous, but will calm down when shown affection.”

“The only problem is, with the aerial bombardment, we can’t get our carpet in the air,” added the Scarecrow.

“Well, we can leave with the Ambassa-Door,” stated the Wizard. “Let’s just get the others and go.” Searching a few halls found Dorothy surrounded by bomb-animals, many of which had rolled over and exposed their bellies. Meanwhile, Nick and Twilor made their way to the storeroom where Benny was still waiting. As the Ozites were rushing back to the Ambassa-Door, they suddenly ran right into Roz.

“Oh, so you’re still here, unlike those other cowards?” asked the Leader. “It’s time we took this fight to the Gurzors.”

“Now, look here, Mr. Roz,” said Dorothy. “We’ve helped you to defend your castle, but we don’t approve of your killing anybody. Besides, you should be able to share this land with the Gurzors, and end this fighting.”

“End the fighting? But it’s what we’ve been doing my whole life! I don’t know if I can even handle a peaceful life! Besides, the Gurzors will never go for it.”

“You have that right, which is about the only thing you ever have other than that ugly mole!” shouted another man, who rushed over to the Leader. It turned out to be Maz, Prince of the Gurzors.

“How did you get into my castle, Your Leftness?” demanded Roz.

“Through the air,” answered Maz, showing his parachute. “I don’t intend to stay, but you have our General Benvolio as a prisoner here!”

“What? The only thing we have from you is a statue.”

“That’s him! Don’t play dumb with me.”

“Who’s playing?” asked Roz. Upon realizing what he said, he corrected himself with, “If your general is in here, it’s no doing of mine.”

“It’s all right,” said Benny, as he turned a corner accompanied by Nick and Twilor. “I’m about to leave with my friends.”

“So you HAVE remembered us?” inquired Maz.

“No, I mean my friends from Oz. I’ve had enough of this warfare, and think you should learn to get along.”

“I see your transformation has made you soft.”

“If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s soft,” said Benny, clapping a stone hand onto his chest. “I have learned compassion, though, and you two both seem to be lacking in that respect.”

“There must be something we can do to stop them from fighting,” advised Trot.

“Maybe you should switch their moles to the other sides of their faces,” suggested Scraps.

“It’s been tried before,” said Twilor sadly. “They just ended up fighting both each other AND themselves.”

So the Ozites just left the two leaders arguing and worked their way to the Ambassa-Door, through which they entered the Wizard’s workshop. Upon arrival, the Scarecrow asked, “Can’t the Gurzors just track Benny down again?”

“Yes, but I doubt they’ll want to. I wasn’t much of a guerilla leader.”

“Probably not even a chimpanzee leader!” teased the Patchwork Girl.

“I have a spell that should make it more difficult for them,” said Twilor. “You may be the reincarnation of a Gurzor general, but that doesn’t mean you can’t be your own person.”

“That’s something I came to realize during my visit to the Silver Island,” observed the Scarecrow.

“Oh, were you also reincarnated? That might be worth examining. I can’t say I’ve ever been to the Silver Island, but maybe they have access to similar magic.”

After a bit of discussion of the Scarecrow’s past, Trot said, “We can’t just let the Zurgors and Gurzors keep fighting, can we?”

“There’s little we can do, since they don’t live in Oz, but we can certainly try to help them negotiate. I’ll talk it over with Ozma, and perhaps she can send an ambassador.”

“Like the one we traveled through?” asked Twilor.

“No, with only one O.”

“Well, I’m just glad to be back in Oz, where things are peaceful.”

“Not the Hoppers and Horners,” said Scraps, as she turned a somersault.

“Yes, but even they rarely hurt each other,” said the Scarecrow. “I don’t know that any place is totally free from conflict, but I’ve seen some other countries, and Oz is relatively quite peaceful.”

“There were always wars back in the Outside World,” said Trot.

“It may be the lot of humanity,” observed Benny.

“In that case,” said the Patchwork Girl, “it’s a good thing you and I aren’t really human.”

“Not anymore, at least,” put in the Tin Woodman.



THE END