“They’ll be along soon, I’m sure.” I pop a cashew into my mouth. Fink watches the door. He takes another sip of ozrum. His knee bounces harder.
Fink, from what I’ve gathered, is next in line for the provost seat. I suspect he views managing me as akin to babysitting me, and regardless of what you name it, both are beneath him.
“You know”—I crunch into a walnut—“I’m a big boy. Surely I can entertain myself if you’d like to run along.”
He finally looks at me. “I was instructed to stay by your side.”
“Hmmm.”
“What?” His eyes narrow.
“Do they not trust either of us?”
His frown deepens. “What do you mean?”
“You’re given explicit instruction, as if you can’t manage yourself, and I’m given a guide, as if I can’t find my own way.”
The front door opens. A cool breeze rushes in. Not Kansas. I turn back to Fink.
There is something else about this man that makes me question him. Maybe it’s the mustache. A beard I could handle, but a mustache?
He hasn’t come right out and said it, but I’ve noticed that when Kansas is around, he seems extra flighty. I don’t know that he entirely believes Kansas to be the great liberator everyone else claims her to be.
And the way he’s considering my challenge, questioning the motives of some vaguethey,when really I mean Ana and he knows I mean Ana, leads me to believe he also isn’t entirely loyal to the Hollow’s leader.
“You’re right,” he says. “She’s always dismissing me.”
There we are.
“I have better things to do tonight other than babysit a man with no memories. No offense.”
“None taken.” I’m a little offended.
“You’ll just wait here for them to return?” he asks.
“Of course. The fire is warm, the snacks are good. What more can a man with no memories want?”
He nods, then downs the last of his ozrum. “If you’re sure…”
“Quite.”
“All right.” He shoves back his chair. “Have a good evening.” Then he’s gone.
I count to ten. Grab a handful of nuts. And follow the man out the door.
Fink is at least a foot shorter than I am, but he moves quickly.
When he leaves the Red Wander, he goes right, farther into the heart of the city. I keep at least ten paces between us, but he’s not bothered by what’s behind him, and the thought he might be followed has clearly never crossed his mind.
Reckless. Naive.
At the end of the narrow street, we spill out onto another town square where a statue is erected in the center. This one depicts a woman wearing a billowing dress, brandishing a wand aimed at the sky. There is no altar at this statue, no flickering candlelight. In fact, as we pass beneath it, I spot several bits of graffiti at her feet.Wickedis spray-painted across her left slipper.Greedy Witchis on her calf. There’s a giantWon her right foot with a circle painted around it.
This must be the Witch of the East. These people clearly hate the witch and love the wizard.
Good for him.
Fink heads north from the statue, taking us back toward the Yellow Brick Road. Here the shops are dark withCLOSEDsigns hanging in the windows. Everyone is leaving early for the ball. The celebration is on the lips of everyone we pass.
