“Sedition?” she ventured. “Bizarre, but you’re joking.”

He spoke in even tones, as if briefing a dul-witted client. “Lady Glinda. Loyal Oz has mounted an invasion of Munchkinland. We are at war. Under the circumstances, the Emerald City magistrates have found your refusal to leave Mockbeggar Hal and Munchkinland al but treasonous. You hardly need me to explain; the Emperor’s counsel has sent you petitions by diplomatic pouch, to which you have refused to respond.”

“I’m not much for correspondence. I could never choose the right stationery, rainbows or butterflies.”

“You make it impossible for anyone to mount a case in your favor. Even your supporters in the EC are flummoxed at your obstinacy. What’s your rationale? Lord Chuffrey, rest his soul, was from the capital, while you originate in Gilikin Country. You can claim no family roots here. Ergo, your insistence at residing in a state with which we are at war is tantamount to a betrayal of Loyal Oz.”

“Is that what determines one as a traitor these days? One’s address?”

“It makes no difference now. It’s my sad duty to inform you that you are under arrest. Stil”—the good guy at work, she saw it—“you’re free to make a statement on record, as we have a witness in your lady-in-waiting. What do you cal yourself? A rebel? Or a loyalist?”

“I cal myself wel bred, which means not talking politics in society.”

He gave a half-nod, though she couldn’t guess if it was acknowledgment of protocol or proof that he considered her borderline berserk. Stil, he continued in a dogged manner. “You understand the thinking of the EC magistrates. You must. Mockbeggar Hal is in Munchkinland. And you haven’t been seen in the city in five years. You haven’t hosted a soirée in your house in Mennipin Square in too many seasons to count.”

“When one has become famous, one finds it harder to go out to the shops without being pestered by wel-wishers and rabble. And realy: Where would I go? The Emerald City? Please. I couldn’t step foot outside the front door in Mennipin Square without people flocking to me. It’s tiresome to have to … beam so. My face hurts.” He looked as if he thought her quite the incapable liar.

Doggedly she went on. “I prefer the quiet life now. I look after my garden… I train the climbing roses, deadhead the pansies.” This was sounding feeble. “I like to arrange flowers.” Their eyes both drifted to a milk jug on the table between them where a fistful of listing tulips, papery and translucent with age, had dropped a few browned petals. Sad, realy. Condemning. She tried again.

“In truth, I’ve been composing my memoirs, and the country is conducive to reflection, don’t you see.”

“But why have you parked yourself in a country home abroad instead of in Loyal Oz, from where the Arduennas and the Uplands hail?”

“Darling Cherrystone. Lord Chuffrey’s family had this house long before Munchkinland seceded—what, is it thirty years ago by now? And when I became Throne Minister, and this place remained accessible via the east-leading branch of the Yelow Brick Road, why shouldn’t I repair here? I could get back and forth to the capital with ease and safety.”