“Tut-tut. And I just swept that dung heap,” said Mister Mikko, and spat in concert.

“Oh, the Scarecrow’s not smart enough to be devious,” said the Lion.

“Stupidity is as dangerous as cleverness,” retorted the Ape.

“More so,” said the Boar.

Brrr looked at the two of them, noting their infirmities, their indignities, their brave courtesies to him. He didn’t like the old codgers, nothing so drastic as that. But if he had been of a certain class of urban Animal, he might have gone to Shiz University himself, once upon a time. He felt a tenderness at the idea. They might have been his very professors. For a moment he pretended they were, and he was a devoted student who had made good in the world, and was looking after their interests, the old dears, now that they couldn’t manage much for themselves.

“I attended a few lectures now and then,” he told them, playing at the fantasy. Well, attending lectures open to the public, that was true enough. “I once had a private practice trading in small original etchings under glass, the occasional watercolor. I grew to know quite a bit about old paper, and the fugitive qualities of certain pigments…”

“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 scraped 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.”

“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?”