So they took their leave, with little fanfare or fuss. The friendship between them was no larger or more hopeful than the shape of a scorched broom, which Liir waved halfheartedly as the Scarecrow loped out of sight, once and for all.

The boy sat in the bobbing blunt-boat and listened to the sound of laughter spilling out the open windows of the pub. The smell was of beer and vomit, and old urine splashed against the wall. The moon was invisible behind the clouds. The sound of a tentative waltz, beguiling and minor, hung over the stinking waters of the canal and the desolate boy there.

THE NEXT MORNING,Liir presented himself at the servants’ entrance of the town house he’d passed the night before.

“We don’t give handouts and we don’t need another coal shoveler, so get yourself out of here before I assist you with a boot in your behind,” said the houseboy.

“If you please, I’m not looking for food or work. Sir.”

The houseboy smirked. “Toadying bastard. Call mesir again, and I’ll beat the crap out of you.”

Liir couldn’t follow. “I meant no disrespect. I just want to know how I can get an audience with Lady Glinda.”

The houseboy’s sneer needed rearranging with a good swift kick, Liir decided, but when the houseboy guffawed, his voice was less hostile. “Oh, a simpleton. Pardon me, I didn’t realize. Listen, the very Margreave of Tenmeadows, Lord Avaric himself, hasn’t been able to get her ladyship’s attention. She’s got her hands full, what with the goings-on in the Wizard’s Palace. The people’s Palace now. Or should be. Or will be. What, you want to fling yourself in her lap and call hermother ? More urchins have tried that already than you could fit on a barge and drown in Kellswater. Now get off with you.”

“Whatever mother I don’t have, it certainly isn’ther .” He held up the broom and shook it in the houseboy’s face.

“What’s that then?”

Liir said, “You tell Lady Glinda that a boy at the back gate has the Witch’s broom. Tell her Dorothy gave it me. I don’t care how long you take, I’ll wait.”

“That thing? That’s a corpse of a broom. Not fit for kindling.”

“It’s been through a lot. That’s how you know it’s the real thing.”

“You’re a stubborn bugger. I can’t be standing here chewing the fat all day. Tell you what. Do me some magic with that broom and I’ll see what I can do for you.”

“I can’t do magic. And the broom isn’t a magic wand. It’s a broom. It sweeps.”

“Sweep a floor with that thing, you’ll leave char marks, and I’ll be the one cleaning up after you. Get out of here, now. Go on.”

Liir raised the broom again and tilted it forward. The houseboy shrank back, as if afraid flecks of scorch would fall on his livery. Noticing this, Liir decided it would be worth his while to wait around and see what happened.