“Ah,” said Brrr. “Look, can you see that? A watermark.”

“What is a watermark?” asked Ilianora.

“Something I learned about in my years as a trader of etchings and drawings. A watermark is a kind of a ghost coin imprinted when the page is made by the artisan. A trademark. The emblem is an embossing done when the paper hasn’t fully set; it presses the fiber tighter there, so when the page is held up to light, the image emerges. I never knew a watermark you could see without a light behind it, though.”

“This book has its own light,” said Yackle.

Brrr rested his chin on her old shoulder; she was strong enough to take it. Absentmindedly with one hand, while trying to read, she reached up and scratched just below his lips, exactly where he would have liked it best had anyone ever done this before.

Most of the text on the page shrank and moved off to one side, like dancers in the wings awaiting their next entrance. The watermark grew a little larger, as if to be seen all the better. Brrr could make out a form, though not the foreign alphabet that spelled a single foreign word beneath the watermark.

“Is that a symbol we’re likely to recognize?” asked Ilianora.

“Is it lightning?” suggested one of the boys looking on.

“A crow with the legs of a stork,” offered Brrr.

“That’s a pretty good description of Elphaba,” said Yackle.

“Is this her story?” asked Brrr. “Or is it her book?”

“It was her book for a time,” said Mr. Boss. The dragon claw had let him sit up, at least. “Or in her keep, I should say; the Grimmerie was no more hers than it is mine. The book belongs to a magician from some distant land, the one who brought it to Oz for safekeeping.”

“Who do you mean?” asked Brrr. “Do you mean the Wizard of Oz?”

“Please,” replied Mr. Boss. “Don’t insult my intelligence.”

“The Wizard of Oz had no power,” snapped Shadowpuppet. “That’s common knowledge by now. No, Our Glorious Wizard came to Oz looking for this book, don’t you know? And ever since Elphaba died and the book disappeared, everyone else has been looking for it.”

“You, too,” said Brrr, surmising. “Your directive was to keep an eye on me in case I actually found out something and decided not to report it.”

“Oh, you’d never do that,” said Shadowpuppet mockingly. “Not Sir Brrr, the most reliable agent we have in the field. Sir Brrr of such famously lofty principles. Heaven forfend. Besides, I’d never betray you. You’ve been such entertainment. Such a lark.”

Yackle laid her hands on the paper, palms down, as if reading the heat on the page.

“How long have you been here, guarding the book?” asked Brrr.

“You still taking notes?” replied Mr. Boss. “Oh, on and off, oh, eighty years maybe? You lose track when it’s such a gas.”

“Even before the Wizard of Oz first arrived in the Emerald City? But why?”