“Quite acceptable, Lady Glinda. There aren’t many who could wear a sprigged foxile with such confidence … under these circumstances.”

“Considering we’re walowing in a civil war, you mean? Don’t answer that. Show the unwelcome visitor to the pergola. I shal be down presently.”

“In any weather, you do us proud, Lady Glinda.”

Glinda said nothing more for the moment, just waved her hand. Miss Murth disappeared. Glinda continued to daly at her dressing table in order to buy time to think. Strategy had never been her strong suit.

So far the time spent over her toilet had bought her precious little except for a manicure. Wel, she could admire her cuticles after the chains were slapped on, if that was where this was heading.

She was affixing an earring when the door burst open and Miss Murth entered the room backward. “Sir, I protest, I do protest—Madame, I have protested—Sir, I insist!” He pushed her into a chair so hard that three top buttons of her respectable blouse popped and spun onto the floor. Several inches of Miss Murth’s private neck were exposed. She grabbed a pilow to conceal herself.

Poor little me, surrounded by the retinue I deserve, thought Glinda. She nodded at Cherrystone and waved to a tufted stool. He remained standing.

“I was told you were ready to see me,” said General Cherrystone.

“Wel, I was almost ready to see you in the pergola, where thanks to the grapevines the light is less accusatory.” She finished putting on the second earring. “Stil, we must move with the times. Miss Murth, if you have finished composing yourself? A little air, the window, such stifling… Excuse the atmosphere, sir. Ladies in their chambers and al that.”

“I was afraid I’d hear that you’d been spotted leaving through the servants’ entrance and taken into custody by my men. I wanted to spare you the indignity. I assumed that ninety minutes was enough for you to compose yourself, and I see I was right. You remain a captivating woman, Lady Glinda.”

“When I was the Throne Minister of Oz, that would have been a most impertinent remark. Stil, I’m retired now, so thanks a lot. To what boysy sort of escapade do I owe the pleasure of your company?”

“Don’t play the naïf; it doesn’t suit you any longer. I’m here to requisition Mockbeggar Hal.”

“But of course you’l do nothing of the sort. You have no grounds and I am certain you have no authority. You wil stay for elevenses though? Do.”

“I’m sure you’re aware that your name has come up for questioning in the Emerald City. For your refusal to evacuate the premises. Some cal it seditious.” She studied him before he spoke. It had been some years since their paths had crossed, and she had once been his boss. Had she treated him wel? But what did that matter? Here he was. With a good head of hair; she admired that in any man past fifty. Though the gloss in his locks was gone, and the color was of dirty coins. He’d shaved. A missed stand of stubble under one ear betrayed the grey. Shaved—for her? Should she feel flattered? Curious: his eyes were no more guarded than they’d once been. That was how he had gotten ahead, she thought—oh, mercy, a moment of clarity, how unusual and piercing, but concentrate, what was that thought again?—Cherrystone had always seemed … approachable. Sanguine. Ordinary, cheery. Those peppery, bitten smiles, the self-deprecation. The shrugs. A pose like any other. Beware, Galinda, she said to herself, not realizing she was addressing herself with her childhood name.