Chapter Thirty-Three. Cleo
THIRTY-THREE
Cleo
The Tinman is slumped in his chair.
Cleo watches him for several minutes.
She is familiar with this scene, a drug injected, a person nodding off. But more than once, she has moved too early, too quickly, waking Delphine, who would rage against the disruption.
So Cleo waits. She waits some more.
All her life, she feels like she has been waiting.
For something.
For someone.
Maybe for herself.
When she’s sure the Tinman is unconscious, she gets up and crosses the inn’s dining room and comes to a stop at the axe embedded in the wooden doorframe.
Her ears ring.
There is nothing special about the weapon.
The handle is made of emerald wood. Cleo knows this because of the green tinge to the wood. The blade itself is polished Western steel with a crescent moon front and a sharp, pointy back. A tactical axe.
It’s a weapon made to fell. Tree or man or beast.
She reaches up to grab the handle, her fingers tingling with anticipation. And then she pulls.
The axe stays firmly lodged in the wood.
She yanks again, this time planting her feet wide, her slippers pressed hard into the stone.
Still nothing. It’s like the axe is lodged in stone, not splintered wood. It shouldn’t be that hard to dislodge it.
“No one touches my axe.”
Cleo yelps and jumps back.
The Tinman is standing behind her, now fully alert.
“S-s-sorry.”
He scowls at her and steps past, taking his axe in his silver hand. He pulls it loose with no effort at all.
The wood splits open, releasing its hold, leaving behind a gaping wound.
“You passed out,” Cleo says, though she’s not sure why. Rarely does she use words she hasn’t agonized over again and again.
“And?” He turns to look at her, the axe handle resting on his shoulder.
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
“How long was I out?”
“About twenty minutes.”
“Faos return?”
“Not yet.”
“Fetch me another scrap of fabric that belonged to the girl. Her scent might be waning. We need something fresh.”
Cleo swallows, nods, hurries up the stairs again. This time she goes straight to Dorothy’s room. It is the only one with the door left open. The others are either locked or led to empty rooms.
There are probably Enders still hiding in the locked rooms, Cleo thinks, trying not to dwell too much on how close they are to the Tinman, how volatile and unpredictable he can be.
Dorothy’s room doesn’t reveal much about the girl. It’s clear she didn’t spend much time here.
Cleo checks the dresser but finds the drawers empty. She checks the closet and finds the same.
There is nothing left in the room.
Except the bedding.
Desperate to present something, Cleo strips one of the feather pillows of its case and takes that downstairs. When she hands it over to the Tinman, he eyes it suspiciously at first before giving in, snatching the cloth from her hands.
He goes outside and puts his fingers into his mouth and whistles.
The sound is quick and high-pitched and echoes through the city streets.
Cleo watches from the doorway, from the safety of the inn.
Within minutes, Faos and two of his soldiers land outside in the empty cobblestone street.
“Any luck?” the Tinman asks.
“We had her scent and tracked her to the outskirts of town, but then it dropped.”
Faos folds his wings in. He’s wearing a brown leather breastplate and leather vambraces. He is a soldier in every way, but does he want to be? Everyone in Oz knows that the Witch of the West commands him and his soldiers through magic.
If he wasn’t commanded by the witch, what would he be filling his days with?
What would any of them be doing right now if they weren’t hunting Dorothy Gale?
Not for the first time, Cleo questions why the Witch of the West brought her here, and if she knew Dorothy had the power to kill a Cardinal Witch when no one else in Oz has ever succeeded.
And not for lack of trying.
There was the West Enders’ resistance when the Witch of the West first took over and tried to subjugate them.
There was the war with the lowlanders in the South, true gods-fearing people who did not like the idea of a witch ruling over them, who ended up cursed with an affliction that everyone called the Breaks because if hit or thumped or pushed, they would crack like fine ceramic.
But Dorothy Gale, a girl who fell from the sky, killed Delphine with nothing more than a kitchen blade.
The reminder of it sends a jolt of adrenaline rocking through Cleo’s body.
Something isn’t right about any of this.
But who am I to question it?
The Tinman tears the pillowcase into strips of fabric. He hands off one to each of the flying monkeys.
“Fresh scent,” the Tinman says.
Faos brings the fabric to his nose and inhales deeply then turns to the air. He closes his eyes, nostrils flaring.
“Well?” the Tinman asks.
“We’ll keep searching,” he says and nods at his soldiers who immediately take flight.
“We’re running out of time,” the Tinman warns.
Faos narrows his eyes. “In what way?”
Cleo watches the Tinman like she used to watch Delphine. Watching for any small, nearly imperceptible change in expression. Any clue she might glean as to how Delphine was feeling, or what feeling she might be slipping into.
But the Tinman isn’t as easy to read as the witch was.
But there … there at the corner of his eyes, a break, a fine line, a bit of …
Fear.
Fear?
Yes, fear.
He’s worried about something.
“I’ll do my best, Tinman,” Faos says and then his wings unfurl and beat at the air, lifting him off the cobblestones with a gracefulness a flying monkey shouldn’t possess.
When he’s just a speck in the sky, the Tinman turns back for the inn and scowls at Cleo when he spots her in the doorway.
He is always scowling. Always annoyed to remember she’s there.
Delphine was the same way. Maybe she too lacked a heart.
He slips past her for the dining room and retrieves the bottle of mead. He pours himself a half glass and swigs it back.
She considers asking him a question.
She considers the consequences of saying anything at all.
But she promised herself she would no longer be afraid.
“What are you worried about?”
His back is to her. He holds the empty cup in hand and goes still.
The fire crackles and several embers swirl from the hearth.
“If the West wants the girl so badly, she likely isn’t the only one.” He pours another glass and downs that one too.
“Who else?” Cleo takes a step closer.
The Tinman sets the cup down with a loud thud. “Who has been at war with the West for years?” He turns to face her now. “Who would love to undermine her?”
Cleo thinks on it for all of two seconds. And when the answer comes to her, the name is a flash of light behind her eyes. Because even when people think of him, the thought is bright with power.
“The wizard.”
The Tinman nods. “The girl killed a Cardinal Witch. The wizard never wanted to share power with them, at least not all of them, and especially not the West. But he can’t kill her. Even he, the Great and Terrible Wizard, cannot kill a witch. But if the girl can?”
“Oh gods.”
“Yes.”
“Is that why the witch wants her too?”
The Tinman drops into one of the chairs, his gaze distant. “That part doesn’t make sense. If she was afraid of risk, she would have had me kill the girl on the spot. She specifically tasked me with retrieving Dorothy alive. I even offered to kill her.”
The way he says the latter, so easy, no emotion, makes Cleo’s stomach ache.
“So she wants her for some other reason.”
“Yes.” He rubs at the back of his neck, pressing into the muscles.
“What’s your theory?”
“I don’t have one and I don’t care.”
“You don’t?”
“Why would I?”
“You just said you were worried about the wizard getting to Dorothy first.”
“Yes.”
“Why, then?”
He eyes her and for the first time, Cleo can read him easily.
“The witch has something over you.”
He looks away.
“What is it?”
His tongue runs along the inside of his bottom lip. He starts to answer when a door clicks shut somewhere in the back.
The Tinman is on his feet in an instant, his axe in hand.
Cleo clamps her mouth shut.
If it’s the wizard, she might die on the spot.
But no, it’s the innkeeper, and by the look on their face, they weren’t expecting Cleo and the Tinman to still be here.
“Oh,” Remy says and starts to backpedal.
The Tinman lunges forward and takes a handful of Remi’s tunic, yanking them closer. “Where is she?”
“I’m not telling you.”
“You are and you will.”
Remy grits their teeth. “I won’t.”
The Tinman tosses Remy back. Remy thumps into the opposite wall. The Tinman swings his axe back and Remy squeezes their eyes shut, surrendering to their fate.
“Don’t!”
The Tinman stops. He turns slowly to Cleo. “Why?”
“Do you not know mercy?”
“I’m heartless. What do you think?”
Heart thumping in her ears, Cleo steps forward and then in front of Remy. “You showed me mercy.”
“You were useful.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
He narrows his eyes.
Cleo can hear the shallow, staccato sound of Remy’s breath behind her. The fire crackles again.
“If not mercy, then how about reason? What purpose would Remy’s death serve? And how much energy would it cost you to do it? You’re still healing from a stab wound. You might need that energy later.”
Cleo knows the moment she’s broken through to him. His stance relaxes. The axe hangs slightly.
“Fine,” he says and steps back.
Remy blows out a breath.
Cleo trails behind the Tinman as he heads back into the dining room. “We need to go,” he says, his voice harsh now, a little disgruntled.
“Wait.” Remy puts their hand on Cleo’s shoulder, brings her to a stop.
“You don’t have to thank me,” Cleo says.
“How did you know my name?”
“I’m sorry?”
“We’ve never met. How did you know my name? It’s not even my birth name. I chose Remy.”
“I—” Cleo frowns. “I must have heard someone call you by name. That’s all.”
Remy looks on skeptically.
Cleo racks her brain. How did she know the innkeeper’s name? And does it matter in a time like this?
“Truly, it must have been something I overheard and…”
“Cleo,” the Tinman calls.
“I have to go.”
Remy takes Cleo’s hand quickly and squeezes. “Never doubt yourself. Okay? Never doubt what you know.”
Cleo gives a quick nod, panic setting in. Because the Tinman is waiting for her, and because the innkeeper is now freaking her out.
Never doubt what she knows? Cleo has doubted everything she knows. She’s doubted every part of herself and every part of her life.
All she knows is doubting.
“Okay,” Cleo says, just to get away, just to forget the warning.
She turns and hurries after the Tinman.